Wild Wild West 1. Chapter 1

**The Night of the Political Patsy**  
A Wild Wild West Story  
By Deana

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James West and Artemus Gordon stood together at the door to Senator Orson Blake's library, watching as people entered the room for what was sure to be a long and drawn-out debate to elect (or re-elect) a new senator for the state of Colorado. Many high-ranking officials were in attendance…senators, candidates, judges…and President Grant had requested that Jim and Artie provide security. As dull as it seemed, they would never dream of refusing, and so, there they stood.

Artie turned his head and tried to hide a yawn.

"Practicing for when the speeches begin?" Jim said.

Artie shot him a longsuffering expression. "How did you know?"

Jim chuckled.

Minutes later, the last attendee had arrived, and Jim and Artie entered the room last, heading over to the windows, near where the candidates were seated.

As one of the senators began speaking, Artie saw something out the corner of his eye, and glanced out the window. What he saw made him frown. "Jim," he whispered. "Do you see what I see?"

Jim followed his line of sight, where he spotted a man climbing out of one of the house's windows.

"What on earth…?" said Artie.

"I'll go check it out," Jim told him. "Stay here and keep an eye on things."

Artie nodded, watching as Jim slinked over to the door and left.

Breaking into a run, Jim hurried as fast as he could towards the front door, bolting out it and rushing over to the window, seeing the man land on the ground. "Hey!" he yelled.

Turning at the shout, the man started running.

"Stop!" Jim yelled, pulling out his gun.

The man sped up instead, and Jim raised his gun to fire a shot into the air, but before he could, the sound of a massive blast filled the air. Automatically throwing himself to the ground, Jim looked up in horror to see parts of the house explode…the area where the meeting was being held.

An ice-cold ball of shock and fear filled Jim's chest when he realized that Artie was inside that room. He jumped to his feet and dashed back towards the house.

Reaching the door, he ran in and headed straight for the destroyed library. People were moaning and coughing from the smoke. Survivors—seemingly all injured in one way or another—staggered out of the room, trying desperately to get to safety. Jim passed them all, jumping over debris in order to get back into the room, having only one thought in his mind…whether or not Artemus was alive.

Looking around, he was dismayed to not see his friend helping the injured…which he knew that Artie would be doing if he was able. Rushing towards the windows, where he'd left Artie, he found that the glass had all been shattered, and parts of the wall and ceiling had fallen. "Artie!" he called, knowing that his friend was under it.

Someone yelled for help, and Jim threw himself to his knees, grabbing wood and throwing it in all directions, belatedly hoping that he didn't hit anyone with it.

Suddenly, a woman's hand reached out and Jim grabbed it, pulling her out from the hole that he'd created. He found that two beams had landed in different directions, propping each other up and preventing the people underneath from being crushed. Relief filled him at that, and he crawled in, helping three other people get out before he spotted what he'd feared.

Artie was lying on the floor, not moving. He lay on his stomach facing Jim, eyes closed.

Jim quickly dropped to his knees beside his friend and felt the pulse on his neck, holding his breath until he felt the steady beat. He closed his eyes with relief for a second, before gripping his friend's shoulder and giving it a shake. "Artie?" he called.

Artemus remained motionless.

Jim sighed and began checking his friend for injuries, knowing that it was dangerous to move him otherwise. Chunks of plaster, small pieces of wood, and a lot of glass had showered his friend, and he knew that Artie was likely covered with cuts and bruises. He reached over Artie to check his left arm, and was horrified to discover that a piece of the wall had landed on it, and was literally pinning his friend to the floor. He stepped over Artie to try to lift it off, but the angle was too awkward…someone would need to hold it up while another person pulled Artie away from it.

Dashing back, he stuck his head out from under the beams and yelled, "I need help over here, my friend is trapped!"

A couple of men hurried over and ducked under the beams. Jim crouched next to his friend, ready to pull him away. Suddenly, he heard a soft groan and looked down to see a wince on Artie's face. "Don't move, Artie," he said.

But the wince deepened, and Artie shifted, with a gasp.

Jim placed his hand on Artie's back to keep him flat. "Don't move," he repeated.

At the contact, Artie's body jerked as if he'd been startled. He opened his eyes, blinking blearily. "Jim?" he mumbled.

"Take it easy," Jim said. "You're trapped; we'll have you out in a minute. Are you all right?"

Artie didn't answer, closing his eyes again, in obvious pain.

Jim looked at the two men, who had figured out how to get Artie free. Together, they lifted the piece of the wall, and Jim took Artie's right wrist and pulled him away, so the men could put their burden back down.

Artie gave a cry of pain, and Jim was afraid to look at his friend's left arm, which he was sure had to be broken, at the very least. He found that it didn't look any different from the outside, thanks to Artie's jacket sleeve, which he was very relieved to not find covered in blood.

Artie was breathing heavily, making no further attempt to move on his own, which was very worrisome to Jim, making him wonder what he'd missed when he'd checked him for injuries.

"There are wagons outside to take the injured to the hospital!" a voice suddenly shouted, as neighbors and passersby came into the house to help.

Jim looked up at the two men who'd helped get Artie free. "We need a stretcher…preferably something hard."

They nodded and dashed off.

Jim looked down at Artie again, tightening the grip on his friend's shoulder.

The two men came back faster than Jim expected, with a long piece of flat wood. They laid it on the floor and Jim carefully rolled his friend onto it, cringing when Artie gave another cry of pain. Jim and one of the men carried the stretcher out of the house and over to a wagon that was nearly full of injured people. Sliding the stretcher in, Jim saw that no one else would be able to fit afterwards, and yelled up to the driver to head out. He jumped in and sat beside his friend, his hand never leaving Artie's shoulder.

Once at the hospital, the doctor didn't let Jim into the room during the examination, and Jim spent the time pacing nervously in the hall. When the door suddenly started to open, Jim burst through and headed over to the bed, but the doctor grabbed his arm before he could get there.

Two nurses were tightly wrapping Artie's left forearm, who lay immobile.

"His arm is broken," the doctor said, unnecessarily. "I built a splint around it, which should remain in place for probably eight weeks."

Jim watched as the nurses finished. The wrapping went from the bend of Artie's elbow all the way down, with only his thumb and fingers visible. The split included his hand, to prevent Artie from flexing his wrist.

The doctor headed to the left side of the bed and inspected the nurses' work, carefully lifting Artie's arm and ensuring that the wrapping was secure. "He also has some bruised ribs. None are broken, but it isn't out of the question that one or two may be cracked."

Jim stood looking down at Artie, who appeared to be unconscious, his skin very pale. Jim opened his mouth, but the doctor anticipated his question.

"I gave him a sedative before I set his arm," the doctor told him. "He also has a cut on his head, but no concussion. His right knee is badly bruised, but was not dislocated or broken."

Jim finally found his voice. "Will he regain full use of his arm?"

The doctor nodded. "He should."

Jim sighed with relief. He suddenly sensed that there was something else, and looked at the doctor. "Is that it?"

The doctor shook his head. "The explosion affected your friend's hearing."

The bottom dropped out of Jim's stomach. "What?"

"His right eardrum was ruptured, the left one nearly. They'll both heal."

"Can he hear at all?"

The doctor nodded. "Yes, when you speak close to his head."

Jim sighed and rubbed a hand across his face, having a hard time digesting it all. "Can we leave when he wakes up, or does he have to stay here?"

"He should stay for a day or two until I can be sure that I didn't miss anything," the doctor said. "It was difficult to communicate with him."

Jim sighed again.

"I need to see more patients," the doctor said. "But I will return."

"Thank you, Doctor," Jim said.

The doctor nodded, and left.

Jim grabbed a chair and pulled it close to the bed, sitting down with a heavy sigh. He was in for a long night.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Jim spent the night dozing or simply watching Artie breathe. Sleep eluded him once he remembered that he'd made Artie stay at the house when he'd run after the man who had obviously set the bomb. If he hadn't made Artie stay, he would never have been injured.

It wasn't until mid-morning when Artie suddenly groaned and moved his head slightly. Jim leaned forward and grabbed his friend's good arm. "Artie?" he said, anxiously.

At the contact, Artie's body jerked and his eyes popped open. They were full of pain, and closed again quickly.

Jim winced, having not realized that his friend didn't know that he was there. "Sorry, Artie," he said, leaning close to his head. "Can you hear me?" Jim now realized why Artie had never reacted to anything that he had said during the rescue…he'd never heard a word.

"Jim?" Artie whispered. Suddenly, his eyes popped open again when he finally realized that he could barely hear.

Jim tightened the hold on his friend's arm. "Take it easy, Artie…it's temporary. You're gonna get your hearing back."

Artie was breathing heavily, from fright and the pain. He looked at Jim again, finally coherent, before looking away as he visibly tried to calm himself down. "What happened?" he asked, before frowning.

Jim frowned too. "What's wrong?"

"I can hardly hear _myself_," Artie said, louder, before wincing and closing his eyes again.

"Are you all right?" Jim asked. "How do you feel?"

"What?"

Jim repeated it louder.

Artie tugged his arm away from Jim, and placed an unsteady hand on his head. "Ooooh…my ears are ringing like someone has a dinner bell in my head."

Jim made a sympathetic face. What a headache he must have. "I'm sure. Don't move your left arm, Artie, it's broken."

"I noticed," Artie said, having tried to move it right before Jim warned him. He gasped, and his face suddenly drained of all color.

Jim ran towards the door and stuck his head out. "Can you send the doctor in here?" he asked a passing nurse, before rushing back over to the bed. "Hang on Artie, the doctor's coming."

Artie's eyes were squeezed tightly shut and he didn't respond…probably because Jim had forgotten to speak louder.

The doctor came in a minute later, took one look at Artie, and headed over to the locked cabinet against the wall where he took out a bottle and a syringe, quickly filling it and bringing it over.

Jim had to move to allow the doctor access to Artie's good arm, and the doctor pushed up his sleeve and injected the drug, before pushing the sleeve back down and fixing the blanket that covered his patient. "Has he been able to hear you?" he asked Jim.

"If I talk right next to his head, like you said."

The doctor nodded, before leaning closer to Artie. "The painkiller I just gave you should begin to work in a few minutes, young man."

Artie reopened his eyes, exhaling a shuddering breath. "Thanks."

The doctor spent the next few minutes listening to Artie's heart and lungs, checking his

ribs and knee, and testing just how much he could hear. If Jim talked loudly a few feet away, Artie could make out what he said.

"But I have to read your lips," Artie told him. "It's a combination of hearing and reading at the same time. If you're not facing me, I won't understand what you said."

"That's good enough for now," said the doctor. "Once the ringing in your ears quiets down, it will literally make your surroundings seem louder. Just rest now."

Artie sighed and put a hand on his aching head again, closing his eyes. "How can a person rest with the Hunchback of Notre Dame in their head?"

Jim frowned. "Didn't the painkiller help?"

Artie reopened his eyes. "What?"

Jim mentally kicked himself for forgetting to talk louder. "Didn't the painkiller help?"

Artie nodded. "It helped, the pain's bearable now. It's the ringing, Jim. You wouldn't believe how loud it is…it'll keep me awake for days if it doesn't drive me mad first."

Jim looked at the doctor, wishing that there was something they could do.

"I could give you another sedative," the doctor offered.

Artie sighed. Ordinarily he would immediately refuse, but he said nothing at first, considering it. "I don't want to be in a drugged stupor the whole time I'm here. Maybe tonight, if I can't sleep."

The doctor nodded. "Let me know if you change your mind." With that, he left the room.

Jim pulled his chair closer to Artie's bed, leaning over with his elbows on the mattress.

"Artie? Can you tell me what happened?"

"Hmm?" Artie answered, eyes closed, looking pale and weak.

Jim felt sorry making his friend talk, when he obviously needed serious rest. "Did you see anything before the bomb went off?"

Artie opened his eyes halfway. "I don't remember the explosion, Jim. The last thing I recall is standing with you near the windows in the library."

Jim's eyebrows shot up. "You don't remember seeing a man climbing out a window, and me going after him?"

Artie frowned. "Oh…oh. That's right." He raised his right hand and rubbed his forehead.

Jim sighed. "I'm sorry, Artie. This is my fault."

Artie turned puzzled eyes on his friend. "Did you just say that this is your fault?"

Jim nodded. "If I hadn't made you stay in the house, you wouldn't've been hurt."

Artie closed his eyes, with a sigh. "Did you know that a bomb was about to go off?"

"No."

"Then it wasn't your fault."

Jim sighed again.

"Now, on to the next subject."

"Next subject?"

Artie nodded, before trying to sit himself up. Jim slid an arm under him and pulled him upright a little, before arranging the pillows behind him. "How's that?"

"Better," Artie said, blinking a few times to get his ringing head accustomed to the change in position.

Jim waited, but Artie never continued his statement. "So what's the 'next subject'?"

"What?"

Jim fought the urge to run a hand down his face in frustration. "The 'next subject'?" he repeated, louder.

"Oh," said Artie. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Changed my mind…can we talk some more later, Jim? It's making the ringing worse."

Jim reached over and squeezed his friend's good arm. "Sure, buddy. Try to get some rest."

"Thanks," Artie said, eyes closed. He lay quietly for a minute, before suddenly opening his eyes again. Just as he thought, Jim was still sitting in the chair, watching him.

"You don't have to stay here, you know," Artie said. "I'm sure you want to do some investigating."

"I do," said Jim. "But if the roles were reversed, you wouldn't leave _me_ alone."

Artie smiled, touched. "I'm all right."

Jim thought back to the two beams that had landed propping each other up over his friend. "You almost weren't."

Artie quickly changed the subject. "Since we're talking again, I might as well say what I was going to say before. Do you have any idea who the intended target was? Were any of the candidates killed?"

Jim made a face. "I don't know…my main objective was rescuing _you_."

"Why don't you go find out? There's a killer on the loose, and if his target survived, then he'll probably try again."

Jim nodded. Artie obviously wanted him out of his hair for a while…probably desperate for some peace and quiet. "Fine…I'll go back to the house and see what's been going on while we've been gone."

Artie suddenly frowned. "How long has it been?"

Jim sat back to take out his pocket watch. "It's 10am."

"What?"

"10am!" he repeated, louder, standing. Leaning over, he pulled one of the pillows out from behind Artie, to lower him down again. "I'll be back soon," he said. "Get some rest, pal."

Artie nodded, eyes already closed.

Jim quietly left the room, sighing as he stood for a second in the hall. Putting on his hat, he strolled towards the door and left.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

When Jim entered Senator Blake's house, he headed straight for the destroyed library, assuming that the senator would be there. He was right.

"Mr. West!" Blake said, walking over. "I wondered when I would see you again. Is Mr. Gordon all right? I saw you carry him out of here last night."

Jim sighed. "Not at the moment, but he will be. His left arm was broken and he's pretty bruised up. His right eardrum was ruptured."

The senator winced. "A lot of people have complained of ringing ears. It must be very annoying."

Jim nodded back. "Senator, I apologize for not coming back until now—"

"That's quite all right, young man," Blake replied. "You needed to be with your friend. I understand."

Jim smiled. "Thank you sir." He looked around the room, seeing broken furniture and missing windows. "How many people were killed in the explosion?"

"To the best of my knowledge, none," said Blake. "Last I heard, twenty people had been admitted to the hospital—including Mr. Gordon—but no one has died that I know of."

Jim looked around the room again, in shock…his eyes automatically drawn to the place where Artie had been trapped. "That's a miracle," he said.

"Indeed," the senator answered.

"Where were you sitting when the bomb went off?" Jim asked.

"Actually, I wasn't here. I'd gone downstairs to make sure that all of the attendees were in the room."

"I see." The way that Blake phrased his statement sent off warning bells in Jim's mind. "Has anyone made any threats towards you recently? Do you have any enemies who wish you dead?"

The senator shrugged. "I'd like to think not, but I _am_ a politician, and it's hard to make _everyone_ happy…"

Jim nodded, trying to keep a straight face. Senator Blake was very long-winded when it came to his speeches, and for all he knew, someone might want to kill him just to shut him up. More than once, Artie had referred to the senator as 'Mr. Blah'. "I saw the man who set the bomb."

Blake's eyebrows shot up. "You what?"

"I saw him climb out one of your windows while I was standing over there," he said, pointing. "I went outside to confront him, but then the bomb went off, and I lost him."

"What did he look like?"

"Average height, dark hair, maybe around my age," Jim said. "Sound familiar?"

"Yes, it does…it sounds like _most_ of the men in this town."

Jim shook his head. "I figured that." He sighed. "If you think of anyone who has a grudge against you, let me know. You can leave a message for me at the hospital or the hotel."

"Mr. West, why don't you stay here as my guest?" Blake asked. "Bring Mr. Gordon when he's released from the hospital. I feel responsible, in a way, for his injuries…I have servants who can wait on him while he recovers."

Jim hesitated. "We couldn't impose on you like that, sir."

"Nonsense," said the senator. "It would be my pleasure."

"Thank you," said Jim. "I'll consider it. Mind if I have a look around?"

Blake nodded. "Go ahead."

Jim took a step away from him as he looked around the room. "I know you won't like to hear this, but it would be best if you didn't do any repairs to this room yet…I'd like Artie to take a look when he's able. He was here when it happened and may notice something that you and I wouldn't."

The senator looked like he had mixed feelings about that. "I would've liked to get this mess cleaned up as soon as possible, but I understand. I'll leave it how it is."

"Thanks," Jim said again, before walking away from him and searching every inch of the room, finding no good clues. He couldn't help but look under the crisscrossed beams that had landed, still standing, over his friend. If they hadn't landed that way, then Artie would've been killed.

When Jim had finished his fruitless search, Blake was gone, and Jim found that it'd been an hour since he'd left the hospital. Wondering if Artie had somehow managed to go to sleep despite the terrible ringing in his ears, he was unsure if he should go back yet and disturb him.

Leaving the house, he rode back to town and stopped at the hotel, finding a telegram waiting for him from Colonel Richmond, who had heard what had happened and was asking if they were all right and what information they could give him. He went to the telegraph office and sent a reply stating that Artie had been injured but no one was killed, and he'd keep him informed. Once that was done, he went back to the hotel and ate lunch, before heading back to the hospital.

Quietly, Jim tiptoed into the room and headed over to the bed, finding Artie motionless, eyes closed. Relieved that his friend appeared to be sleeping, he slowly sat in the chair beside the bed, careful not to make any sound. His relief changed into concern when he noticed that Artie's eyebrows were drawn into a frown, and his breathing was too fast for a sleeping man. He realized that Artie was awake, and either in more pain than he'd let himself show, or completely exasperated over the ringing preventing him from sleep.

Jim had a feeling it was a combination of the two.

Suddenly, Artie sighed and brought up his right arm, groaning as he fisted his hand and held it against his forehead in frustration. A second later, as if feeling like he was being watched, his eyes popped open and he jumped at the sight of Jim sitting in the chair.

Jim felt like an idiot when he realized that he'd tiptoed and been extra-quiet for nothing. Artie hadn't heard him anyway. He shook his head and leaned his elbows on the bed. "I'm sorry, Artie. I'm not used to that," he said, gesturing towards his friend's right ear. "Do they hurt too, or are they just ringing?"

"They hurt," Artie replied, with another sigh. He suddenly realized that Jim had witnessed what he'd been trying to downplay, and lowered his arm again.

"Did you sleep?" Jim asked.

Artie sighed, miserably. "No."

Jim reached over to the tray that sat on the nightstand and lifted the cover. "Did you know that a nurse brought you lunch?"

"I'm not hungry."

Jim placed the cover back down and looked at his friend with a frown. "What? Artemus Gordon, not hungry?" The words were humorous, but the shock was real. Artie not wanting to eat said more than actual words ever could.

"I've never liked hospital food," Artie replied.

Jim opened his mouth to say, 'you didn't even taste it first', but stopped himself. If Artie didn't want to eat, Jim wasn't going to force him.

"Did you find out anything?" Artie asked, changing the subject.

"Yes; no one was killed in the explosion."

Artie's eyebrows shot up, and he looked more alive. "Really?"

Jim nodded. "There were many injuries, and twenty people including you were admitted here, but everyone survived."

Artie smiled. "That's _wonderful_ news."

Jim sat back in his chair. "It is. Whoever planted that bomb is sure to try again, and then we'll know who they're after."

"What?"

Jim mentally kicked himself; he'd done it again. Leaning forward, he repeated his words.

"Right." Artie agreed. "Do you remember what he looked like? It's hazy in my mind."

"Yeah," Jim said, nodding. "He looked right at me outside."

"You should have someone sketch him."

"I don't know who's an artist in this town."

"You know that I can do it."

Jim frowned. "But are you up to it?"

"I'm an agent on this case too, you know," said Artie.

"You're an _injured_ agent lying in a hospital bed."

"An injured agent whose right hand is perfectly fine," Artie countered. "Get me some paper and a pencil."

Jim left the room and came back with what Artie needed. He took the lunch tray and placed it on the bed to brace the paper on, before taking his friend under the arms and sliding him up in the bed.

Artie closed his eyes and bit his lip to avoid voicing the pain that spread through most of his body, especially his arm and ribs. His head throbbed for a minute to protest the change in position, and the painful ringing in his ears drowned out what he didn't notice Jim was saying. When he realized that there was a hand tightly grasping his uninjured arm, he remembered that he had an audience, and quickly reopened his eyes.

The expression on Jim's face was one of alarm. "You're hurt worse than you're letting me know. In fact, I should've figured that out when I returned to find that you haven't snuck out of here yet!"

Artie sighed, blinking tiredly. "No, Jim, it's just that the painkiller is wearing off."

"Why didn't you say something? I'll get the doctor." Jim turned to head for the door.

"Jim, wait! It's not too bad if I stay still. Let's do this first before you forget what he looked like." Artie reached over for the supplies.

Jim picked them up and placed the tray and paper on Artie's lap, handing him the pencil. He described the man, and watched in amazement as Artie created him on the paper. He picked it up and looked at it, before shaking his head and looking at his friend. "Incredible," he said.

Artie smiled at the praise.

"All we need to do is show this around town, and hope that someone knows him," said Jim. "Has the doctor told you how long you'll be here?"

"He said that I can probably leave tomorrow," said Artie. "He won't let me go today because he actually thinks that I'm not strong enough to get around on my own. Ridiculous."

_It doesn't seem ridiculous to me,_ Jim thought. Artie was nearly as white as the sheets, and looked like he hadn't slept in a week. "You look pretty tired, pal," he said.

"So? People don't have to stay in the hospital just because they're tired."

"No, but when they've been in an explosion that got them a broken arm, bumped head, bruised ribs, and damaged hearing, they do."

"Traitor."

Jim chuckled at that. At least Artie still had his sense of humor. "Question for you: what do you think of the senator?"

Artie frowned. "Mr. Blah? You already know what I think of him."

"Yeah, but I'm wondering if he's involved in this. He wasn't there when the bomb went off…he'd gone downstairs to make sure that every attendee was in that room. Those were his own words."

Artie frowned. "Trying to knock off the men who could replace him in the election."

Jim nodded. "He offered to let me stay at his house, and said to bring you there to recover once you're released. He actually said that he feels responsible for your injuries."

Artie just looked at him, and Jim wondered for a minute if he hadn't heard what he said.

"That makes sense," Artie finally replied. "Blake set the bomb to kill the other candidates, but felt remorse at injuring a federal agent, whom he has nothing against. Then again, it could be the total opposite: he might want us there so he can knock us off, too, to stop us from finding out that he's responsible."

"Right. I'm not letting you stay there in your condition, when you aren't able to defend yourself."

"Good," said Artie. "I don't wanna stay at Mr. Blah's…he's so long-winded, my ears would _never_ stop ringing!" He lifted his uninjured right arm and wiggled his fingers. "I can still shoot a gun, though, you know."

"Good thing," said Jim. "Because I need you to look at that room and see if you find something that I didn't, considering that you were there when the bomb went off."

"Don't remind me," Artie said, with a wince.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

The door to Artie's room suddenly opened as the doctor came in.

Jim suddenly remembered that his friend needed more pain medication, and the doctor nodded at Jim before he spoke, as if knowing what he was about to say. He filled a syringe and headed over to the bed.

"Mr. Gordon," the doctor said, loudly. "How are you feeling?"

Artie opened his eyes halfway. "I'm fine."

"No he's not," said Jim, soft enough that Artie wouldn't hear him, deliberately not moving his lips so Artie wouldn't _see_ him, either.

The doctor gave Artemus the injection and did a quick exam, before telling him that he'd better eat if he wanted to be released the next day.

As the doctor left, Artie rolled his eyes. "That doctor treats his patients like children."

"Then he must be a good father," Jim answered.

Artie shrugged with his good arm, before sighing and closing his eyes again. "What time is it?"

Jim sat back in his chair to get out his pocketwatch. "Just after 2."

"What?"

Jim dropped his arm and looked up at the ceiling, unable to believe that he'd sat back in his chair again, making Artie unable to hear him. He sat forward again with a sigh. "It's just after 2."

Artie groaned. "This is the slowest day I've ever had."

Jim made a sympathetic face. "Maybe you should take the doctor up on his sedative offer."

"It's too early. I'd wake up later and need another one to sleep through the night." Artemus raised his right hand and scrubbed it over his face. "This ringing is sheer torture. Nothing compares."

Jim believed him. Artie never complained just for attention. "I wish I could help."

Artie lowered his hand, with a sigh.

"I'm pretty sure the bomb was close to where you were, near the windows," said Jim. "That part of the room was the most damaged."

Artie nodded, before suddenly frowning.

"What is it?" Jim asked.

Artie didn't speak for a few seconds. "I think I just remembered something…"

Jim moved from his chair to sit on the side of the bed. "What?"

Artie was still frowning. "I think the blast came from behind me…well, from the right. I was still standing where you left me. I think…I think I might've heard a noise just before the blast."

"What kind of noise?" Jim asked.

Artie started to speak, before changing his mind and shaking his head. "I don't know." He looked at Jim. "It happened only a second before the explosion. A click, maybe."

"That may be a clue to exactly where the bomb was," said Jim. "Do you remember anything else?"

Artie shook his head. He reached over and took the sketch of the bomber out of Jim's hand and looked at it. "You should show this to the other patients here, to see if anyone recognizes him."

Jim nodded. "Exactly what I planned to do."

Artie suddenly closed his eyes, and the paper drooped from his hand, landing on his stomach. He reopened his eyes again, looking exhausted.

"If you want to try to sleep again, I'll go do that right now," said Jim, eager for his friend to get a respite from the torturous ringing in his ears.

Artie nodded, closing his eyes again.

Jim picked up the paper and quietly tiptoed away, before remembering that Artie couldn't hear him anyway. Leaving the room, he asked a nurse for a list of room numbers of the people who'd been hurt in the bomb blast, and after she composed it, he started at the lowest room number and worked his way up. Each person had a story to tell, though no one recognized the man in the sketch.

As Jim sat and listened to a woman near-hysterically describe her experience, Jim sighed, realizing that this was going to be a very long investigation.

Before Jim knew it, a nurse suddenly brought supper to the woman, and he realized that a few hours had passed. He left and headed back to Artie's room, finding his friend awake.

Jim sat in the chair. "Did you get any sleep?"

"A little," Artie answered, looking no less tired.

Jim had a feeling that was a lie. "So far, no one knows the bomber," he said.

"Figures. How many people did you talk to?"

"Almost all of them. I only have one left," Jim said.

"Why did you come back before talking to the last one?" Artie asked.

Just then, a nurse came in carrying a tray.

"That's why," said Jim.

The nurse brought the tray over and placed it on the nightstand, before reaching over to help Artie sit up. Jim helped her, pulling Artie upright while she fixed the pillows behind him. "Now, Mr. Gordon," she said, sternly. "You like chicken, I assume? You'd better eat this time if you expect the doctor to let you leave tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am," Artie said, the ringing in his ears killing any desire to flirt.

The nurse picked up the tray, placed it on his lap, and left.

Jim looked at Artie. "Yes ma'am?" he said. "I expected you to say, 'anything for you, my dear', or something."

Artie cracked a smile. "Ha ha." He took the cover off the tray, before making a face.

Now Jim was _really_ worried. "You don't want supper either?"

"_This_ looks edible," said Artie. "But one would think they'd know that a person with a broken arm is incapable of using a knife."

"One would," Jim agreed, reaching over to cut the chicken for his friend, watching as he ate.

"Needs salt," Artie remarked a minute later.

Jim chuckled.

"After talking to all those people," Artie said, drinking some water from the glass on the tray. "Did you come to any conclusions?"

"Only that the bomber probably wasn't after one of them," said Jim. "And, the man obviously doesn't live in this town, or someone would've recognized him."

"True," said Artie. He took another bite, before saying, "You do realize that if Mr. Blah is responsible for the bomb, that he already did away with any clues that remained in that room."

Jim nodded. "I know. That's why the sooner you can get out of here, the better, so you can take a look and see if there's anything that I don't know."

Artie nodded. With a sigh, he put the fork down and leaned his head back. "I could really use a glass of wine right now."

"Aren't your ears ringing enough?" Jim joked.

"If I had enough wine, maybe I wouldn't _notice_ the ringing so much," Artie replied with a tired smirk.

"I'd sneak you some," said Jim. "But it might not mix well with the medication that the doctor has been giving you."

"True," Artie sighed again. "Are you going to talk to the last man?"

Jim nodded. "It may seem pointless, but it only takes one witness to give someone the information that they've been searching for," he said. "After that, I think I'll go back to the hotel to freshen up. I'll be back as quick as I can."

"Do what you have to do, Jim. I'm not going anywhere."

Jim took the tray off Artie's lap and placed it on the nightstand, before handing him the half-full glass of water. "Hang in there, pal. Tomorrow you'll be out of here."

Artie drank it and handed the glass back. "It can't come soon enough." He yawned.

Jim smiled and left, heading to the room of the last man and finding out that he didn't recognize the bomber either. With a sigh, Jim left the hospital and went back to the hotel, changing his clothes and picking an outfit to bring Artie to wear the next day. He went downstairs and ate supper, before showing the picture around to the patrons, each of them telling Jim that they've never seen the man before. Afterwards, he showed the picture in some of the town's shops, with the same results. Frustrated, Jim went back to the hospital.

He found Artie still awake, and wasn't surprised. "I can't understand it," Jim said. "No one I asked in the hotel recognized him either."

"Looks like this is gonna be a tough one, Jim," Artie mumbled, too exhausted to talk.

"It'll be even tougher for you if you don't get some sleep," Jim told him. "Will you let the doctor give you a sedative now? It's nearly nine o'clock."

Artie nodded, and Jim had a nurse seek out the doctor, who came into the room a few minutes later.

"The ringing hasn't gotten any better?" the doctor asked.

Artie shook his head.

The doctor did a quick exam before getting out a syringe and bottle of liquid, which he injected before turning down the light on the nightstand. "You'll feel better in the morning," he said, kindly.

"Thanks," Artie said, before looking at his friend. "Night, Jim."

"Night Artie. Pleasant dreams."

Artie closed his eyes, and within a minute, his breathing slowed into the pattern of sleep.

"I assume you are staying here all night again," the doctor asked Jim.

Jim nodded.

"I will have a cot brought in so you can get some sleep too."

Jim smiled. "Thanks, doc. I appreciate it."

The doctor smiled back and left the room.

Jim watched Artemus sleep, relieved that his friend finally had a respite from the torturous ringing in his ears. When the doctor came back with the cot, Jim was asleep within minutes, eager to get Artie out of the hospital the next day, and hoping that the case would be solved quickly.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Jim slept well into the morning, his brain catching up on the sleep he'd missed the previous night while sitting at Artie's bedside. When he woke, a sense of urgency filled him and he sat up, looking towards Artie.

Getting up, he walked the few feet to his friend's bed and watched him for a minute, finding him still soundly asleep. Going towards the door and sticking his head out, Jim saw the doctor come out of a nearby room. "Hey, doc," he called.

The doctor walked over to him. "Good morning."

Jim nodded. "Morning. Do you still plan to let Artie leave today?"

The doctor shrugged. "It depends on his condition."

Jim made a face and looked at his watch, surprised to find it after nine. "When do you think he'll wake up?"

"Hard to tell," said the doctor. "It depends on whether or not he stays asleep once the sedative wears off. I gave him a strong dose, which usually lasts about twelve hours."

"It's been that long." Jim headed back into the room and over to the bed, to find Artie still sleeping.

"He needs all the rest he can get," said the doctor. "We should leave him be."

"Yeah," Jim agreed, slightly disappointed. He was as eager to get Artie out of there as much as Artie wanted to leave. With a sigh, he sat in the chair beside the bed. "If you do let him leave, is there anything I need to know? Any special care he'll need?"

"Pain relief will be the main thing…have you ever broken a bone?"

Jim nodded. "Sure have."

The doctor went over to the cabinet and brought back a bottle of pills, handing it to him. "The instructions are on the label."

"I assume these aren't as strong as the injections you've been giving him?"

The doctor shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. Scientists have yet to put that drug into pill-form."

"Can you give him a shot before he wakes up? We unfortunately have somewhere to go before I can get him back to the hotel..."

"I already did, nearly an hour ago, while you were still asleep."

Before Jim could say anything else, they were interrupted by a sudden groan.

"Artie?" said Jim.

Artemus reached his right hand to his forehead, rubbing it. Having not heard his friend, it was a few seconds before he opened his eyes. He looked up at them blearily, still groggy from the sedative.

"How do you feel?" Jim asked.

Artie blinked a few times. "What?"

Jim sighed and shot a glance at the doctor. "How do you feel?" he repeated, louder. "The ringing's not any better?"

The doctor took Artie's right wrist to check his pulse.

"Not really," Artie said, with a yawn. Shifting, he winced as his broken arm moved.

"Keep still," said the doctor.

Jim watched as he listened to Artie's heartbeat. "Well?" he asked. "Can he still leave?"

"Patience, Mr. West." The doctor put his stethoscope back into his pocket before looking at Artemus, studying him.

Artie stared back, unflinchingly, trying to look as healthy as possible. He knew that he was failing miserably.

Jim knew it too. Artie was extremely pale and still looked exhausted.

The doctor sighed. "I'd like to keep you for the day, but against my better judgment, you can go, Mr. Gordon…or do you have the good sense to know that you should stay?"

Artie hesitated, hearing the implied insult to his intelligence. He blinked. "How do I answer that one, Jim?"

Not sure if he was joking or not, Jim laughed, hoping to cover up the possibility that Artie was seriously asking. "Good one, Artie. Ready to go?"

Artie flipped back the covers and tried to sit up, but the doctor put a hand on his chest to hold him down. "Not so fast, young man," he said. "Unless you enjoy falling."

Artie looked at him with a frown.

"The inner ear controls balance," the doctor said, pointing at his own head. "In your condition, any sudden move will throw you right off. If you forget that, then don't be surprised when you end up on the floor. I certainly would not recommend that, especially with a broken arm."

Artie knew about the ears controlling balance, but he was so eager to leave that he hadn't been thinking. "Oh, the next week is going to be _lots_ of fun."

"Don't worry, Artie," Jim said. "I'll be right there to catch you when you forget."

Artie couldn't help but chuckle at that.

Jim and the doctor both helped him sit up on the side of the bed, and Jim fetched the clothes that he'd brought. Helping Artie get dressed wasn't easy. He was indeed covered with bruises, and was stiff and very sore. As Jim prepared to carefully slide a shirtsleeve onto Artie's broken arm, his friend stopped him.

"That's not going to fit over the splint," Artie said.

"Yes it will," said Jim. "This isn't one of your shirts. I was showing the picture around town and went into a clothing shop. This shirt was two sizes bigger, and I had the tailor take it in everywhere else so it would fit you. As for your jacket, he simply took out the hem in the sleeve from the elbow down," Jim said, slipping the shirt over the splint. "Once your arm heals, it can be sewed back up."

Artie was amazed at his friend. "Good thinking, Jim. Thanks."

Jim grabbed Artie's fringed jacket and helped him put it on, before carefully settling his friend's arm in the sling that the doctor had provided. "How do you feel?"

Artie looked pale. The doctor's drug didn't kill _all_ of the pain, naturally, and the ringing in his ears was extremely draining. "I'm all right."

"I've heard _that_ before," Jim said, with a grin.

"So have I," Artie shot back.

Jim chuckled and got his hands under Artie's good arm. "Now remember what the doctor said; no sudden moves."

Artie was grateful for Jim's strong grip as he helped him stand, especially when the room suddenly tilted to the left.

Jim pulled on Artie's good arm when his friend suddenly tipped in the wrong direction. He wrapped an arm around his friend's back and held him tightly.

The ringing in Artie's ears increased to a seemingly impossible intensity, making Artie wish that he'd pass out to escape it. It slowly died down to its usual-maddening level, and he opened his eyes to find that he'd fisted his hand in his hair in anguished frustration, and that Jim was holding him up.

"Artie?" Jim said, and Artemus had a feeling that his friend had called his name more than once. "Can you hear me?"

"I can _now_," Artie said, scrubbing his hand across his face before lowering it. He let out a breath. "Remind me to keep away from bombs from now on."

"I'll make it my life's mission," Jim said, before tugging his friend towards the door.

Artie walked slowly, limping slightly on his right leg.

Jim paid the bill, pocketed the paperwork that the nurse at the counter handed him, and helped Artie out the door and over to a small wagon.

"Where did you get that?" Artie asked.

"The livery stable," said Jim, helping him climb on. "I doubted you'd appreciate riding a horse to the senator's house in your condition, so I rented it from the owner."

"You're just _full_ of ideas," said Artie.

Jim flicked the reins, and the horses started walking.

Artie shifted, trying to get comfortable, before he noticed that they were going the wrong way. "Are we stopping somewhere else first?"

"Well, we gotta eat breakfast," said Jim. "I'm starving!"

Artie knew that it was really for his own benefit, but said nothing.

The hotel wasn't far from the hospital, and Jim helped Artie get down from the wagon, both of them grateful that he managed to keep his balance.

Going inside, they spotted quite a few people with bandages or other signs of injuries sustained in the blast. The ones who already knew Jim and Artemus showed relief to see Artie up and about, and expressed their confidence that the two of them would find the man responsible.

Jim made sure that Artie was safely seated before he sat down himself. "Do you know what you're having?" he asked.

Artie didn't answer, tiredly staring at the tabletop. He looked weak and worn out, and Jim wondered if taking him to the senator's house was a bad idea. He suddenly realized that Artie wasn't answering because he hadn't spoken loud enough for his friend to hear him over the noise in the room. "Artie," he said, waving his hand to get his attention.

Artie looked up.

"Do you know what you're having?" Jim asked again.

Artie shrugged without thinking, and inhaled sharply, carefully hugging his broken arm.

Jim winced, in sympathy. That had to hurt. Before he could say anything, a girl appeared at their table.

"Mornin' fellas," she said. "Hey, you were at the senator's house when that bomb went off?" she said to Artie, upon noticing his injury.

Occupied with his throbbing arm, Artie barely noticed that she was standing there, nevermind that she'd spoken to him.

"You'll have to speak louder," Jim told her. "The blast hurt his ears."

"Oh." She bent down and looked into Artie's face. "You were at the senator's too?" she exclaimed…unnecessarily, considering that Jim had just answered her question.

Artie jumped, startled by the stranger's face that suddenly appeared before his own. He wasn't able to decipher what she'd said, thanks to the noise in the room, and gave the answer that he thought she was expecting. "Pancakes!"

Despite everything, Jim had to raise a hand to cover his mouth so his friend wouldn't see the smile that he had to hide.

The waitress straightened up with a confused look on her face. "Okay," she said. Looking at Jim, she asked, "And you?"

"Eggs, sausage, and toast."

She wrote it down. "Coffee?"

Jim nodded. "Please."

She walked away, and Jim looked at his friend again. "How's your arm?"

Artie sighed, still holding onto it with his other hand. "I'll live."

"That's not what I asked," Jim said. "I know you're not up to going to the senator's house. It was irresponsible of me to have planned it."

"It was _right_ for you to plan it," Artie said. "I need to see that room, sooner rather than later. We've already lost two days thanks to me being in the hospital, and lives could still be at stake. I've worked cases while injured before. I'll be fine."

Jim knew that Artie was right, and nodded.

A few minutes later, the waitress brought their food. As she placed Artie's dish in front of him, she bent over and all but shouted into his ear, "Here you go, hun!"

Artie closed his eyes for a second as the ringing intensified. Reopening them, he found her face still staring into his own. "Thank you," he said, resisting the urge to shout back.

She smiled and stood again, placing Jim's dish on the table and giving him a wink before walking away.

Artie looked at Jim with a longsuffering sigh.

Jim shrugged with a grin, and ate a mouthful of eggs.

TBC

I know there hasn't been much action yet, but isn't injured Artie adorable? LOL ;-)


	6. Chapter 6

A half hour later, after twice more enduring the waitress' exaggerated attempts to communicate with Artie, the two of them were once more in the wagon, heading for the senator's house.

"Is there anything I need to know before we get there?" Artie asked.

Jim shook his head. "Nothing except to pay close attention to the senator's behavior. I'm not sure yet whether he's involved in this or not."

Artie nodded and shifted his position. Unexpectedly, the two movements combined with the motion of the wagon proved to be too much for Artie's sensitive balance, and with a gasp, he slipped right off the wagon.

Jim never saw it coming. One second Artemus was there, and the next, he wasn't. "Artie!" he exclaimed, stopping the wagon and jumping off. He found his friend lying flat on his back, and dropped to his knees beside him. "Artie?" he repeated.

Artie's eyes were closed, and he had a deep wince on his face. "Jim?" he gasped. "Did I just…fall off the wagon?"

"Yes," Jim answered. "Are you all right?" His hands hovered over his friend, but he wasn't sure where to touch him without hurting him.

Instead of answering, Artie suddenly laughed.

Jim frowned, having not expected that. "Artie?"

The chuckle turned into another gasp of pain. "Remind me...not...to laugh," Artie said, though the smile remained.

"Can you move?" Jim asked, thankful that Artie hadn't landed on his broken arm.

Artie shifted, and Jim helped him sit up, an arm around his shoulders in case he lost his balance again. Artie groaned, leaning against his friend while holding his injured arm. Eventually, he opened his eyes and saw the wagon. He smiled again through the wince, before seeing the serious look on his friend's face. "Come on, Jim, at least give me a _reason_ to feel so embarrassed. I _fell_ _off_ the wagon."

"I'm sure I'll laugh at you over this for the rest of our lives," said Jim. "But right now, I'm just glad that you didn't do yourself more damage."

"I _hope_ you're right about that," Artie said, aching all over.

Jim carefully pulled his friend to his feet, where Artie stood hunched over, trying to hold his broken arm and bruised ribs at the same time. He couldn't stop himself from groaning again, and Jim helped him hobble over to the wagon and get up into the seat. Jim climbed on himself, sitting shoulder to shoulder with his friend and gripping Artie's right arm.

"What are you doing?" Artie asked.

"Making sure you don't fall off again," Jim replied, flicking the reins with his other hand.

"Oh, ha ha. Thanks...I think."

Jim rode the wagon slower the rest of the way, and they eventually arrived.

Artie climbed stiffly down with Jim's help, swaying a little once he was on the ground. Jim kept a supportive arm around his shoulders as they slowly headed up to the door, which opened before they reached it.

"Is Senator Blake home?" Jim asked the servant.

The man nodded and let them in. "He is in the library."

Jim and Artie shot each other a glance. "Thanks," Jim said. He slowly lead Artie down the hall before peeking into the room to see what was going on.

The senator was standing on the other side of the room, surveying the damage.

Jim and Artie walked in. "Senator," Jim called.

Blake turned around. His eyebrows shot up when he saw Artie, and he hurried over, meeting them halfway. "Mr. Gordon!" He reached out and shook Artie's hand gently, as if afraid that he would hurt him. "How are you feeling?"

Artie smiled pleasantly. "Sore, but I'll be all right."

Blake looked at Artie's arm. "How terrible, to have been injured so. I truly am sorry."

"No reason to apologize, sir, it wasn't your fault," Artie said.

Blake sighed and turned around, and Jim and Artie shot each other another glance, wondering if the senator was sorry because he'd been the one to plant the bomb.

"I'd like Artie to take a look around, to see if there's anything that we didn't notice," said Jim.

"Of course," said Blake. "But are you up to it, young man?" he asked Artie.

Artie had been glancing around the room, and didn't really hear what Blake said. He didn't even realize that he'd been spoken to until Jim nudged him. "What?"

"I asked if you were up to it," Blake said, louder. "You look very peaked."

"Oh…sorry, sir. My hearing isn't what it used to be!" Artie said with a chuckle, finding it suspicious that Blake was trying to stop him. He slowly limped towards the windows, before stopping at the sight of the two beams leaning up against each other.

Jim appeared beside him.

Artie looked at his friend, the question easily readable in his eyes.

Jim nodded. "That's where I found you."

Artie looked at the beams again, shocked. He took a few more steps and carefully bent down to look under them, not surprised when he felt Jim grab his good arm to prevent him from losing his balance. After a few seconds he slowly straightened up and looked at Jim. "I had no idea."

"I wasn't exaggerating," Jim said.

Artie knew immediately what he meant…when he'd told Jim in the hospital that he was all right, and Jim had replied, 'You almost weren't.'

Saying nothing more, Artie carefully navigated his way through the debris—Jim still holding onto his arm—towards the area where he'd heard the _*click*_ just before the explosion. As he expected, he found the remains of a Grandfather clock. "I thought so," he said. "Jim…I think the bomb was in the clock."

Jim's eyebrows rose. "What makes you think that?"

"The click I heard was the clock hands striking the hour. The bomb then exploded before the chiming could start."

Jim nodded. "Makes sense." He knelt on the floor, helping Artie do the same, so they could look through the debris for anything out of the ordinary.

Artie shifted to a sitting position for the sake of his right knee.

"Mr. West?"

Jim looked up at the senator's call, to see Blake talking to one of his servants. Not sure why he'd called him, he stood and left Artie sitting safely on the floor, still looking through the remains of the clock. "Senator?"

"My servants have been cleaning the guest rooms, and I was wondering if you'd given anymore thought to my offer of the two of you staying as my guests while you investigate this crime."

Jim smiled pleasantly. "Oh…well, I think we'd be better off staying at the hotel in town. I've been questioning the residents, and it makes more sense to stay local."

Blake nodded. "That's true. The offer still stands, if you change your mind."

Before Jim could say anything more, a strange creaking sound filled the room. He looked towards the windows, to see that the two leaning beams had started to shift…right towards Artie, whose ringing ears hadn't heard the sound.

"Artie!" Jim exclaimed, pointlessly. He started running back as the beams shifted again.

Artemus was startled out of his wits when Jim suddenly appeared out of nowhere and threw himself at the beams, forcing them in the other direction where they crashed to the floor and practically shook the whole room.

Dust was instantly kicked up into the air.

Having snapped his head up, Artie's balance was lost and he tipped sideways, managing to catch himself on his right elbow. The dust swirled into his face, choking him.

Jim dashed towards his friend and threw himself to his knees. "Artie? Are you all right?"

Artie looked up at him but hadn't heard what he said, the sound of the crashing beams having increased the ringing in his ears. He coughed again.

Jim took off his hat and waved it in the air to dispel the dust, before taking his friend's good arm and sitting him up before pulling him off the floor.

Artie groaned, the coughing hurting his bruised ribs.

Jim suddenly noticed that the senator was beside them, and a surge of anger filled him. Had Blake called him away from Artie on purpose, because he knew that the beams were about to fall? Was that possible? Seeing a chair nearby, he steered Artie towards it.

Artemus, hunched over from the pain, fought to keep up when he felt Jim tighten his grip and start walking faster. He was relieved when Jim suddenly lowered him into a plush, comfortable chair. He closed his eyes and let himself melt into it.

Jim gripped Artie's shoulder tightly, thinking that he'd passed out, but Artie opened his eyes in response before closing them again. Jim could see that his friend was in pain, and sighed.

"This is terrible!" the senator exclaimed. "Mr. West, I insist that you and Mr. Gordon remain here, for a while at least. He is in no condition to ride back to town."

Jim sighed again. Whether the senator had planned this or not, he was right…for the moment, anyway. _I shouldn't've brought him_ _here..._he thought. _He should've stayed in the hospital...__  
_

Artie suddenly coughed again.

Jim looked around the room and spotted a decanter of brandy. He quickly strode over to it and poured a glass, before bringing it back over. He knew that water would've been better, especially considering that Artie was on medication, but if the senator _was_ trying to kill them, he didn't trust him to fetch it. "Here, Artie," he said, hoping that the strong drink would lend his friend some energy and strength.

Artemus opened his eyes to see the glass before his face. He raised his right hand to take it, but Jim didn't let go as he drank it.

After Artie was finished, Jim handed the glass to the senator.

"There is a sitting room just down the hall, where he can lie down," said Blake.

Artie coughed again, and Jim bent down to speak into his ear. "Can you make it to a room down the hall?" he said, sure that Artie hadn't heard the senator.

Artie's eyes were closed and he was very pale, his breathing shallow and ragged. His good arm was wrapped around his ribs, and having suffered the same injury a time or two himself, Jim knew the agony that coughing could cause. The amount of pain seemed to prove the doctor's suspicion that one or two of Artie's ribs were cracked, not merely bruised, and Jim wasn't surprised, considering how close his friend had been to the bomb.

Artie nodded—Jim knew that he would whether the answer was yes _or_ no—so he carefully pulled his friend out of the chair and wrapped an arm around his back, holding tightly to his good arm.

They slowly made their way through the room and out the door, following the senator to another door which he opened. There was a huge couch in the middle of the room, and Jim brought Artie over to it and helped him lie down.

"If there's anything you need, there's a bell-pull right there," Blake said, pointing. "I will tell the servants to respond promptly."

Jim nodded. "Thank you."

The senator nodded back, before touching Artie's shoulder. "Rest as long as you need to."

Artie opened his eyes and managed to figure out what he'd said. "Thanks," he answered.

Blake smiled at them and left the room.

TBC

Uh oh…does Blake have them right where he wants them? Stay tuned to find out!


	7. Chapter 7

Jim sighed and sat on the side of the couch, looking at his friend. "How you feeling?"

"Sore," Artemus replied.

Jim knew that 'sore' was a serious understatement. "Sorry, Artie. I should've brought you back to the hotel."

"Stop apologizing, Jim," Artie answered, tiredly. "None of this is your fault."

Jim was itching to ask Artie for his opinion on whether or not Blake was responsible for what had happened, but he didn't know if they were being spied on.

Artie suddenly coughed again and groaned, trying to curl up on his right side. Jim helped him and sighed, wondering if they should stay at the senator's house after all. If he _wasn't_ involved in the bombing, then why put Artie through more pain traveling back to the hotel? But the senator had given them more than one reason to suspect him, so it wasn't worth the risk.

Jim sighed again before standing. Suddenly, he had a terrible thought, and started looking around the room.

It took until Artie opened his eyes a few minutes later to notice Jim walking around as if searching for something. "What are you doing?" he called.

Jim, near the windows, suddenly saw Senator Blake ride a horse away from the house. He turned and hurried back over to the couch. "Can you handle leaving _now_?"

Instead of answering, Artie held out his good arm, knowing that Jim had a good reason for getting out of there.

Jim took Artie's arm and gently pulled him off the couch, holding onto him tightly as they headed out of the room. Jim looked both ways down the corridor before he helped Artie down the hall and to the front door, quickly opening it and heading outside to their rented wagon. They quickly climbed on and Jim flicked the reins, getting them away from the house as quickly as possible.

They didn't talk during the ride, each of them knowing that it was pointless to try…the noise of the wagon combined with Artie's limited hearing would make it too difficult. After arriving at the hotel, they went straight to their room, where Artie laid on his bed with a relieved sigh. "What were you doing back there?" he asked, wincing as he tried to get comfortable. "Looking for another bomb?"

Jim sat on the side of the bed. "Didn't you think it suspicious that Blake made us go into that particular room, and then he left the house?"

"I _did_ wonder about the room," Artie said. "He left?"

Jim nodded. "When I was looking around the room, I saw him ride off. And those beams…what are the chances that they would wait two whole days to fall…until you just _happened_ to be sitting right near them?"

"I see your point," said Artie. "But he didn't know that we would show up at that particular time, or that I would've thought of the clock and end up in that exact spot. For that matter, what could he have done to them to make them fall at that very moment?"

Jim sighed. "I know…but these are just two more reasons to suspect him. Speaking of the clock, did you find any trace of the bomb in the debris?"

"No," Artie said. "It obliterated itself in the explosion."

"That figures." Jim sighed and stood, walking a few steps away.

Glad that Jim was no longer looking at him, Artie closed his eyes with a wince, having a hard time masking his pain anymore, especially after the ride back to town. The injection that the doctor had given him before he woke up that morning had worn off, and he could barely deal with so much pain from so many places. He wondered if the doctor had given Jim a prescription for him, but if he had, Jim would've said something, wouldn't he?

Jim turned around to say something else, momentarily forgetting that Artie wouldn't hear him from there, and stared at the sight of his friend with his eyes squeezed shut. He dashed back over to the bed and sat on it, grabbing his friend's shoulders. "Artie?" he said.

Artie opened his eyes, having not intended for Jim to witness the amount of pain he was in. It was too late now, and the agony from his broken arm was bad enough without the added pain of his ribs…not to mention his ringing ears, which were making his head throb. "Prescription?" he mumbled.

Jim reached into his pocket and took out the bottle of pills that the doctor had given him. "Why didn't you say something? I didn't know the drug the doctor gave you already wore off." He grabbed Artie's hand and shook two of the pills into it, before getting up and looking for the pitcher of water that had been in the room the night before.

Artie didn't wait. He popped the pills into his mouth and chewed them, making a face of disgust at the nasty taste.

Jim came back with the water and gave it to him anyway, before taking away the empty glass. "Is there anything else I can do?" he asked.

Artie's eyes were tightly closed again. He shook his head.

Jim sighed and squeezed his friend's good arm. He picked up the bottle of pills and read it, realizing that he should've done that before giving them to Artie. "This says that you have to eat when you take them."

"Maybe they'll be stronger if I _don't_," Artie managed to say.

"They might make you feel _sick_ if you don't," said Jim. "Don't move, I'll be right back."

Jim left the room and went downstairs, asking the desk clerk to send some soup up to their room. The clerk had a telegram for him and he took it, turning to lean against the desk as he started to open it, but his eye unexpectedly caught someone watching him from the doorway. When the man realized that he'd been seen, he took off running.

Realizing that it must be the man who'd set the bomb in the senator's house, Jim ran through the hotel and out the door. Looking around to see which way the man had gone, he spotted him and gave chase, pulling out his gun. "Hey!" he shouted. "Stop!"

But the man only ran faster, pushing people out of his way and jumping over obstacles in his path.

Jim fought to catch up, but he knew that the man had quite a head start. He wasn't surprised at all when he lost him…the man seeming to disappear. He looked around for a few more minutes before giving up and going back to the hotel.

When he walked in, he found a bellboy heading towards the stairs with a covered tray. "Is that for room 15?" he asked.

The boy nodded.

"I'll take it," Jim told him, taking a coin out of his pocket and handing it to him.

The boy gave him the tray and Jim took it upstairs, opening the door to find everything as he'd left it. He placed the tray on the nightstand and looked at his friend, finding him still looking pained. "Artie?"

"Ummm?" Artemus answered.

"Pills working yet?"

"Starting to."

"Good," Jim said, relieved. He headed into the small attached restroom and fetched a towel before going over to his own bed and grabbing one of the pillows. "I'm gonna sit you up so you can eat some soup," he said, after heading back. He felt Artie tense up as he slid an arm under his shoulders, and he pulled him up carefully, sticking the extra pillow behind him.

Artie relaxed, letting out a sigh, still wincing.

Jim placed the tray on his lap and took off the cover, before laying the towel over Artie's shirt in case he spilled any. He waited until Artie started to eat before he spoke again. "You'll never guess what happened after I went downstairs."

"You spotted the bomber?" Artie said, after swallowing a mouthful of soup.

Jim blinked, having not expected his friend to say that. "Yes."

Artie paused with the spoon in the air. "What?" he said, having not expected to be _right_.

"He was standing in the hotel doorway, watching me," Jim told him. "I chased after him, but he got away."

Artie stared, the spoon still hovering in midair. "I can't believe it."

"Why?" said Jim. "He has to know that you and I are working on this case."

"No, I mean I can't believe he got away from you," Artie said, before eating the spoonful of soup.

The quip was music to Jim's ears…it meant that Artemus was feeling better. "Very funny. He'd taken off before I was halfway to the door."

Artie gave no reply as he continued to eat.

"Do you have any idea what the bomb was made with?" Jim suddenly asked.

"I'd guess that it was just plain dynamite," said Artie. "Which would explain the lack of shrapnel, and why we didn't find any kind of remains from it."

Jim nodded, before remembering the telegram and took it out of his pocket, opening it and finding that it was from Colonel Richmond, which he'd figured.

"What's it say?" Artie asked, as he finished his soup.

"I told Richmond that you'd been injured in the blast. He's expressing his concern for you and asking if we know who did it." He took the tray and towel and put them on the nightstand. "Feeling better?"

Artie nodded, closing his eyes.

"Try to get some sleep," Jim said. "I'm going to send Richmond a reply."

"Okay."

Jim left the room and locked the door behind himself before heading downstairs. He left the hotel and scanned his surroundings, hoping to spot the bomber again, but he was nowhere to be seen. With a sigh, Jim headed over to the telegraph office and sent off a message to Richmond telling him that Artie was out of the hospital, and that they had yet to identify the man responsible for the bombing.

As Jim left the telegraph office, he was surprised to see Senator Blake walk into the bank across the street. The senator looked around as if making sure that no one saw him, and thinking it very odd, Jim crossed the street and went around the corner of the bank, watching for him to come out.

A few minutes later, he did, carrying a bag, and headed back in Jim's direction. As Blake passed him, Jim grabbed his arm and spun the older man around, forcing him to walk down the alley. "Hello, Senator," he said.

Blake looked shocked. "Mr. West! What are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same thing," said Jim. "It looks like you just made a withdrawal." He stopped and took the bag, looking inside. "A very _large_ withdrawal. Paying someone for a job well done?"

Blake sputtered. "Just what are you insinuating, Mr. West?"

"What is this money for?" Jim asked.

"That is none of your business!"

Jim was through holding his temper. He grabbed Blake's arm. "Artemus Gordon was almost killed. He's suffering a lot of pain. You tell me right now who that bomb was meant for, and who's working with you."

"What?!" cried the senator. "Mr. West, no, I have nothing to do with that!"

"Prove it," said Jim.

Blake shook his head, bewildered, before looking around to see if anyone could hear them. "Mr. West," he whispered. "I'm being blackmailed."

Jim showed no reaction. "Blackmailed."

Blake nodded. "This money is to pay the man what he demanded."

"And what exactly are you being blackmailed _for_?" Jim asked.

"Well, that's the odd part…I don't know. All I know is that I received a note saying to bring five thousand dollars to the saloon at six o'clock tonight, or else another bomb will be planted in my house!"

Jim sighed. "That's extortion, not blackmail."

"Blackmail, extortion, who cares what it's called! All I know is that's what happened!"

Jim was having a hard time believing him. "And where is this note?"

"Right here," Blake said. He took a paper out of his pocket, and handed it to him.

As Jim read it, he was inwardly surprised, having assumed that Blake had made it all up. For a minute, he had to consider the possibility that the senator wasn't involved after all.

Jim looked at his watch, to see that it was nearly 3:30. "Go. I'll be at the saloon before six," he told him.

The senator sighed. "That makes me feel better." He hurried back up the alley and disappeared.

Jim stayed where he was, in case the senator was being watched. After a couple of minutes, he came out of the alley and went back to the hotel.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

As Jim walked back into the hotel, he repeated the conversation that he'd just had with Senator Blake in his mind, trying to make sense of it all. He and Artie had suspected him of being in league with the bomber, and suddenly Blake comes up with the extortion story? Was it true, or had he planned ahead to use that ruse if necessary? With a sigh, he headed up the stairs, and quietly opened the door to their room.

Looking towards Artie, Jim was glad to find him asleep, but as he walked closer and got a better look, something struck him as odd.

Artie was lying on his bed, eyes closed, but his right arm was hanging off the bed and his head was lolled to the side, facing Jim. His body looked shifted over, as if he'd tried to get up or something…his position appeared unnatural, sending warning bells through Jim's mind.

Quickly, Jim sat on the bed and gently picked up his friend's arm, feeling the pulse in his wrist. He found it to be sluggish and weak, and a chill of fear shot through his stomach. "Artie!" he exclaimed, tapping his friend's face. "Artie, wake up."

Artemus remained motionless.

Wondering what injury the hospital had missed, Jim was about to rush downstairs to tell the hotel clerk to send for a doctor, but a sudden wave of dizziness washed over him, taking him completely by surprise.

_There's something toxic in this room! _he realized.

Jumping up from the bed, he quickly opened the windows before dashing to the small balcony and throwing the door open. He quickly ran back to his friend and lifted him into his arms, praying that he wasn't hurting Artie's ribs worse as he quickly carried him onto the balcony and put him in one of the chairs. Going back inside, he looked around quickly, before suddenly spotting a jug sitting under a chair on the other side of the door. There was a tripwire tied from the headboard of Artie's bed across the doorway and to the jug, which pulled the cap off when someone entered the room.

The trap had obviously been sprung while they were at the senator's house.

Jim grabbed the jug, ran out onto the balcony, and threw it as hard as he could towards the back of the building. It shattered loudly when it hit the ground, and Jim belatedly realized that he should've saved some so Artie could determine what chemical it was.

Taking a deep breath, Jim found that the dizziness was going away, and he took off his hat and fanned Artie with it, sending as much oxygen into his face as he could. "Artie?" he said again, tapping his face. "Artie?"

Artemus didn't wake, having inhaled much more of the fumes than he had.

Jim sighed and sat in the other chair. Suddenly, he heard a rattling sound come from inside the room…as if someone was trying to open the door. Quickly grabbing his gun, he jumped off the chair and closed the balcony door most of the way.

The rattling continued until the unknown person got the door open. Peeking around the door, Jim watched as the man entered, and saw just what he'd expected: it was the man who'd set the bomb at the senator's house, obviously expecting to find them unconscious or dead from whatever chemical he'd planted inside their room. Standing, Jim opened the balcony. "Hold it!" he exclaimed.

The man turned towards him and fired his gun.

Jim ducked and fire back, watching as the man fell back against the door. He ran inside, only to find that his bullet had hit the man in the chest, and he was dead. Part of him was relieved that there would be no future bombings and possible loss of life, but the agent in him wished that the man could've been taken alive for questioning.

Leaving the dead man, Jim went back out onto the balcony and checked Artie's pulse again, finding it to be stronger. Closing his eyes with relief, he was surprised when a sudden gust of wind blew, making the comfortable early-October air feel chilly. Jim went back inside and fetched a blanket, bringing it out and covering Artie with it, wanting to keep him outside in the fresh air at least until he regained consciousness.

Jim crossed to the rail and looked down on the town. He was about to call to someone to send the sheriff to him, not wanting to leave Artie alone in his state, but he then spotted the man himself looking around, gun drawn. "Sheriff!" he called.

The sheriff looked up and jogged closer. "Mr. West? You know something about the shots I just heard?"

Jim nodded. "Come up to room 15."

A minute later, they and the hotel owner all stood over the dead man as Jim explained what had happened.

"At least we don't have to worry about anymore bombings," the sheriff said.

"But we'll also never find out the reason why he did it," said Jim. He looked towards the balcony, to see that Artie still hadn't stirred.

"I assume you'd like a different room," said the hotel owner. "Number 17 is unoccupied."

Jim nodded, heading out to the balcony just in time to see Artemus move his head. "Artie?" he said.

Artie's eyes flickered, but didn't really open.

Jim tapped the side of his face. "Artie…Artie, wake up."

It took a few seconds, but Artie finally half-opened his eyes and blinked, confused. "What?" he mumbled.

"Are you all right?" Jim asked, urgently.

"What?" Artie repeated, groggily.

Jim crouched and looked into his friend's face. "Are you all right?" he said again.

Instead of answering, Artie asked, "What happened?" raising a hand to his head. He closed his eyes again, before suddenly remembering. His eyes reopened and his hand flew down to his chest, his breathing quickening. "Jim!" he exclaimed, finally coherent.

"I know…" Jim said. "The bomber planted some kind of chemical in our room. I got rid of it."

"I couldn't breathe," Artie said. He took a deep breath—as deep as his cracked ribs would let him—but didn't quite achieve it before coughing. He tried to suppress it, for his ribs' sake, and somehow succeeded.

"How do you feel?" Jim asked. "I don't know what the chemical was."

Artie only then seemed to realize that he was sitting outside on the balcony. His stomach felt a little queasy and his lungs were burning. He lifted his hand to his head again, closing his eyes. "Dizzy," he said, sounding dazed. "I'll be all right."

Jim studied him for a minute, knowing that Artie wasn't telling him everything. "We're changing rooms," Jim said, hating to dump more news on Artie's head while he was still disoriented. "The bomber paid us a visit…he's dead."

Artie slowly opened his eyes, blinking at him. "Did you just say what I think you said?" he asked, apparently not trusting his ringing ears.

Jim nodded.

Artie's first instinct was to turn around and look into the room, but he managed to stop himself. That's all he needed, to fall out of his chair…falling off the wagon had been bad enough.

"Can you move?" Jim asked.

Artie knew that Jim wanted to get him into the new room, and held out his good arm.

Jim pulled him out of the chair and steered him back into the room, supporting most of his weight, as Artie was groggy and stumbly. As they passed the dead man, Artie stopped.

Jim waited as his friend took a look.

"Do we know his name?" Artie asked.

Jim shook his head. "No. He had nothing in his pockets, either."

Artie said no more, and Jim helped him from the room and into the one next door, bringing him over to one of the beds.

"Balcony," Artie mumbled.

Jim steered him into that direction instead, getting it open and sitting Artie in one of the chairs.

Another sudden gust of wind blew into Artie's face, and he shivered. "Weather's changing," he remarked.

"Are you sure you want to stay out here?" Jim asked, noticing that the sky had become cloudy and blocked the sun, making it feel even chillier.

"What?"

Jim repeated himself.

"We don't know what that chemical was," Artie said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "I should, until the effects are gone."

Jim nodded, before going back inside and taking the blankets off both beds and covering his friend with them. He sat in the other chair and sighed. He and Artie had been working together for years, and usually had cases solved quickly and without serious injury, (besides the sometimes-frequent knocks on the head.) Lately, they'd both been enduring more harm, and Artie was more than taking the brunt of it this time around. "We need a vacation."

"Here, here," Artie said, eyes still closed.

Jim suddenly realized that with the bomber dead, Senator Blake didn't have to make the saloon payoff. "What would you say if I told you that the bomber was an extortionist, trying to get money from the senator?"

"I'd ask if you found that out from a reliable source," said Artie. "And if you told me that the source _was_ the senator, I'd have reason for doubt and ask for proof."

"How about this?"

Artie opened his eyes to see a piece of paper in front of his face. "Bring five thousand dollars to the saloon at six o'clock," Artie read. "Or else another bomb will be planted at your house. Tell anyone, and you die." He lifted his head and reached out his right hand to take it, to study it closer. "And yet, he told you?"

"You could say that I forced it out of him," Jim replied, waiting for Artie's assessment.

"It's definitely not Blake's normal handwriting," said Artie. "The question is whether it's because he was smart enough to disguise it, or if someone else really did write it."

Jim nodded. "Either way, he doesn't know that the bomber is dead. I'm going to have a telegram sent to his house telling him that he doesn't need to make the payoff."

"This doesn't mean that he didn't hire the man who set the bomb," Artie said, as Jim stood. "Maybe the money was really his lackey's payment."

"Exactly," Jim clapped his friend on the shoulder. "That's just what I said to him. It's good to know that despite what you've been through the past few days, your mind is still able to function normally."

"Ha ha," Artie said, as Jim left the balcony. He closed his eyes with a sigh, before reopening them a few seconds later. "That's what he _said_ to Senator Blake?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jim jogged down the hotel stairs and out the door, hoping that the senator was home to get the telegram, considering that there was less than two hours before the no-longer-necessary payoff. He sent the telegram, as well as one to Colonel Richmond, telling him that the bomber was dead. That done, Jim returned to the hotel. As he walked through the lobby, he stepped aside to let two women pass, and as he tipped his hat to them, he heard a sound that immediately got his attention.

A click.

Turning, he saw that he was standing next to a Grandfather clock, and the hand had just moved. A thought suddenly struck him, and he looked through the glass, finding exactly what he feared—

—a stack of dynamite.

Looking back at the time, he saw that it was merely three minutes before the hour. "Everyone get out of the hotel!" he shouted. "There's a bomb in here!"

Pandemonium erupted as people started to run towards the door.

Jim ran over to the stairs and dashed up them, shouting for everyone to get out of the hotel. He threw open the door to room 17; finding Artie still sitting on the balcony, his damaged ears having prevented him from hearing what was happening.

"Artie!" he exclaimed, rushing over. "There's a bomb downstairs! Come on." He grabbed his friend and pulled him out of the chair, pulling Artie's arm around his neck and holding onto him tightly as they rushed out of the room. They made it down the stairs and out the door, running across the street where a group of people were standing, nervously watching.

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the hotel, the concussive force blasting the crowd, knocking some of them down.

Jim grabbed onto a wooden beam to keep them on their feet, and sheltered Artie from the blast. After he was sure that no debris would come their way, he straightened up, handed Artie over to one of the men in the crowd, and ran back towards the hotel.

Artie, still a little dazed from the unknown chemical that had rendered him unconscious, didn't expect Jim to run back inside the building. Despite his condition, adrenaline lent him temporary strength, and he pulled away from the stranger and followed Jim.

Not far from the door, they heard a woman sobbing.

Jim knelt and yanked a curtain, rod and all, off the floor, finding a lady underneath, holding an infant that couldn't be more than a few weeks old. Jim took the baby from her and handed it to Artie, before pulling the lady into his arms and carrying her out.

Artie, stunned to find his good arm suddenly full of tiny infant, followed Jim out, hurrying across the street. Suddenly, everything tilted as his balance gave out, as he feared it would, and he tried to shift to the left, choosing without question to catch himself with his broken arm rather than hurt the baby. His shoulder unexpectedly struck something, and he gratefully leaned against it. "Jim!" he called, closing his eyes against the vertigo.

Jim had just laid the passed-out woman down on the ground—where people knelt to help—when he heard his friend. He looked up to see Artie leaning against a wooden post ten feet away, obviously unable to make it any further. He hurried over and grabbed Artie around his back while wrapping his other arm around the baby so Artie couldn't drop it. He helped his friend over to the crowd of people and gently sat him down on the ground. "Stay here," he said.

Artie opened his eyes and nodded, holding the baby tightly, looking down at it as it started to gurgle.

Jim ran back into the hotel, quickly searching and finding no one else inside. When he came back out and crossed the street, the sight of his friend: injured, pale, sitting on the ground holding a baby, was something that he'd never forget.

Jim reached them and knelt beside them. "You all right?"

Artie nodded and looked back down at the baby, who was making gurgly noises. "They'll certainly have quite a story to tell _him_ when he gets older."

Jim followed his gaze, unable to resist a smile when the baby sleepily opened his eyes. "They sure will." He looked towards the hotel, wondering if it was still habitable.

For the next few hours, the town helped clean up the inside of the hotel. The owner was beside himself at the damage, but relieved to have all the help.

Jim wouldn't let Artie do anything, forcing him to simply sit on a couch that had survived the explosion. Artie felt like a heel just watching, but with his injuries, there really wasn't much that he could do.

Once night fell, everyone went home. The hotel kitchen and part of the dining room had been spared by the explosion, so Jim and Artie sat down to eat.

Jim watched his friend, who looked too exhausted to even be sitting up in the chair. Too much had happened today. "Artie," he said, waving a hand to get his attention, in case he couldn't hear him.

Artie tiredly looked up.

"How's the ringing?"

Artie sighed. "No better."

Jim echoed the sigh. "There are rooms upstairs that survived the blast," he said. "Ours didn't, but all of our things did. We can get to the room through a stairway in the kitchen."

"That's a relief," said Artie.

Their waitress brought them the beef stew that they'd asked for, giving them each a double helping. They ate quickly and headed upstairs. As Jim helped Artie with his shirt, they suddenly heard what sounded like another explosion. It was very loud, and Artie was startled. "Was that another bomb?!" he asked, having not heard it clearly through the ringing in his ears.

Jim shook his head. "I think it was thunder."

Artie groaned. "Just what I _don't_ need."

Jim helped him get changed and into bed, where Artie closed his eyes and flung his good arm over them, desperately praying that he'd somehow get to sleep despite his ringing ears and unexpected thunderstorm.

Rain started to pour, but the thunder didn't continue for long. To Jim's relief, Artie fell asleep quickly. Jim sat in a chair beside his friend's bed for an hour as he thought about the bombings, still wondering if Senator Blake was involved. He eventually found the hospital paperwork in his pocket and read it, before putting it on the nightstand for Artie to see. Eventually, when he realized that his friend was sleeping like a log, he went to bed himself.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

_Artie scanned the room, looking for signs of anything suspicious. Seeing nothing, he looked out the window again, to see Jim chase after the man who'd climbed out the window. They ran out of sight and he turned around again to face the room. He heard the nearby Grandfather clock strike the hour, and suddenly, the loudest sound he'd ever heard filled the room as something violently exploded. _

_Dazed, it took Artie a minute to realize that he was lying on the floor, with pain coursing through his body. Smoke filled the air, and it was the last thing he saw before darkness abruptly engulfed him._

Artie woke abruptly, breathing heavily. Startled from the vivid dream, he moved faster than he should've, and squeezed his eyes shut tightly when it sent pain shooting up and down his arm and through his ribs. He reached for the bottle of pills on the nightstand, but accidentally knocked it off. Taking a careful breath, he painfully sat up on the side of the bed and looked down at the floor, but didn't see the bottle. A second later, he found himself unexpectedly sitting on said floor, and realized that standing up while looking down was apparently a no-no in his present condition.

Jim woke to the sound of a sudden _*thump*_. Sitting up, he saw that Artie's bed was empty. "Artie?" he called. He quickly got up and rushed around his friend's bed, finding him sitting on the floor. "What happened?"

Artie was holding his broken arm, and looked up at him with a sigh. "I got up to find my pills and lost my balance."

Jim helped him up and sat him on the side of the bed. "The bottle was on the nightstand."

"I accidentally knocked it off."

Jim found the bottle on the floor and gave Artie two of the pills, grabbing a pitcher of water and pouring him a glass. As he watched his friend drink it, he noticed something. "You look better."

Artie nodded. "I feel stronger," he told him. "The rain helped drown out the ringing enough to let me sleep. I don't think I woke even once. The ringing is quieter, too; I can hear you better."

Jim smiled. "Glad to hear that, Artie."

Artie made a face. "A pun, James?"

Jim chuckled. "An accidental one."

Artie smiled. "Sure." He put the glass on the nightstand. "I finally remember what happened."

Jim's eyebrows shot up. "Tell me."

Artie shrugged with his good arm. "Not much to tell, really. I watched you chase after the man, but when you went out of sight, I turned back to the room. I heard the Grandfather clock strike the hour, and then…" He shook his head, as if not sure how to phrase it. "The whole place went up, in the loudest sound I've ever heard. I found myself lying on the floor, smoke filled the room, and then…nothing. I was unconscious when you found me?"

Jim nodded.

"The next thing I became aware of was the ringing in my ears," Artie continued. "I didn't even know you were there until something touched me and I opened my eyes and saw you."

Jim nodded, with a sigh.

Artie leaned back to recline on his bed, still unconsciously holding his arm. "Have I said 'thank you' yet?"

Jim blinked. "What?"

"I thought _I_ was the one who couldn't hear," Artie said, with a smile. "Thanks, Jim, for all your help."

Jim shook his head. "No need to thank me, Artie, you know that."

"Still," said Artie. "You're a good friend."

Jim smiled back. "You might not think so after what I have to tell you."

Artie blinked. "What's that?"

"You have an appointment at the hospital today."

Artie closed his eyes and plopped his head back against the pillow. "Oh, Jim. You wouldn't do that to me, would you?"

"It's for your own good, Artie." Jim took the paperwork off the nightstand and handed it to him.

Artemus took it, reading it quickly and seeing that Jim was right. He put the papers down with a sigh.

An hour later, Artie sat on a table as they waited for the doctor to come into the room. "Have I said yet how much I hate seeing doctors?"

Jim nodded, from where he sat in a nearby chair. "Many times, Artie. Many, _many_ times."

"What?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "Yes," he said, louder.

"Well I'll say it anyway: I hate seeing doctors," Artie repeated.

"Then you're in the wrong line of work," Jim replied.

Artie shot Jim a grin at that one, as the door opened and the doctor came in.

"Well, Mr. Gordon," the doctor said, loudly. "I wondered if you would come back."

Artie jerked his thumb towards Jim. "You can thank my bodyguard for that."

"One of us has to be responsible, Artie," Jim cut in.

"Responsible?" Artie echoed, incredulous. "You're worse then _me_ when it comes to seeing a doctor yourself—_ow_!"

"Sorry," said the doctor, who'd lifted Artie's broken arm to check the splint. "I guess I don't have to ask you how the pain is. Has the ringing in your ears decreased?"

"A little," Artie answered, looking paler as the doctor checked the splint.

Satisfied, the doctor gently placed Artie's arm back into the sling and took out his stethoscope, listening to his heartbeat and lungs. "You're breathing too shallowly," he said, pressing the stethoscope harder against Artie's back. "Can you take a deeper breath?"

Artie complied, and Jim could see the pain in his face from the effort.

"I don't like the sound of your lungs," the doctor said. "Chest and rib injuries can actually cause a form of pneumonia by the patient restricting their own breathing, thereby preventing the lungs from clearing themselves, which makes the patient congested."

Artie rolled his eyes and glanced at Jim.

Jim knew that Artie was knowledgeable in medical matters, and obviously already knew that, but naturally it was hard to follow rules when serious pain was involved.

Jim suddenly remembered the toxic chemical that Artie had inhaled the day before, and opened his mouth to mention it, before he saw Artie give a quick shake of his head. Reluctantly, he kept quiet, not wanting to put Artie through more poking and prodding.

"Lie down, please," the doctor said, putting an arm around Artie's shoulders to guide him down.

Artie sighed—carefully—having dreaded this part. He shot an irked glace at Jim as if blaming him for the pain that he was about to experience.

Jim stood and came over to the table.

The doctor carefully felt Artie's bruised ribs, pressing down harder than Artie liked. He couldn't keep a wince off his face, and he suddenly gasped and jumped when the doctor pressed one on his left side.

Jim immediately put one hand on Artie's shoulder and the other on Artie's uninjured arm.

"Aha," the doctor said. "You _did_ manage to crack one." He moved on to the next rib, getting another gasp from his patient.

The spreading pain made Artie breathe heavily, making him cough from the congestion in his lungs.

The doctor slid an arm under his patient and sat him up halfway. "Hold him up," he told Jim.

Jim complied, letting Artie lean against him as he watched the doctor remove Artie's arm from the sling and lay it on the table before grabbing the pillow and placing it against Artie's chest.

"Mr. Gordon," said the doctor. "If you hold this against your ribs when you cough, it will brace them and lessen the pain."

Artie already knew that too, and squeezed the pillow against himself as he tried to stop coughing.

Jim held onto his friend, feeling guilty for making him come back to the doctor. He believed that the toxic chemical that Artie had inhaled the day before was making the situation worse, and he wondered if he should mention it to the doctor despite Artie's wishes.

Artie finally managed to stop coughing. He closed his eyes tightly, with a groan, as he tried to control his breathing and resist further spasms.

"I know it hurts, Mr. Gordon, but not letting yourself cough will only make it worse for you later," the doctor said.

Artie gave no answer, and Jim wondered if the ringing in his ears had increased after the torture that he'd just been through.

"Lie him back down, Mr. West."

At that, Jim looked up. "What?" he said, having thought that the rib exam was over.

Artie gave a breathless chuckle at Jim's reaction, and Jim imagined him again saying, _I thought I was the one who couldn't hear._

"I have to check the rest of his ribs," the doctor said.

"Why?" Jim asked. "It's obvious that some of them are cracked. Does it really matter how many?"

"I'll be more gentle," the doctor said.

"Jim," Artie cut in, hoarsely. "I appreciate the concern…but you're starting to embarrass me."

Jim looked at his friend before laying him flat once more.

The doctor carefully felt the rest of Artie's ribs, noting a stronger reaction to one other. Removing his hands, he said, "It appears that three of them are cracked."

_Do tell,_ Artie thought, eyes shut against the pain.

"Sit him up," the doctor told Jim, before moving towards a shelf.

Jim obeyed, carefully helping Artie sit up on the side of the table.

The doctor came back with a long piece of cloth, and started unbuttoning Artie's shirt. "A bandage will help stabilize the cracked ribs," he said.

Artie inwardly sighed at that, hating the confined feeling from a bandage around his chest.

The bruises over Artie's ribs were very large; especially the ones over the three cracked ones. Jim frowned in sympathy as the doctor started wrapping the bandage around his friend. A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Why weren't you sure until now whether he'd cracked any?"

"The painkiller in the injections was much stronger than the pills that he's taking now," said the doctor. "So I knew that it would be more obvious today. Look here," he said. "For future reference, the bandage should not be wrapped tightly, or it will restrict his breathing even more. It's merely meant as support."

Jim nodded, pretending that he didn't already know that himself.

The doctor had Jim button Artie's shirt again as he checked his patient's bruised knee, which was coming along nicely. "Now," the doctor said to Artie, as he carefully put his broken arm back into the sling. "Is there anything that you need to tell me?"

Artie blinked at him.

"Any other injuries that you discovered later," the doctor clarified. "Or any additional harm that you caused yourself from not resting as you should?"

Both Jim and Artie immediately thought of the incident at the senator's house, rescuing the woman and baby from the hotel bomb, and, of course, the toxic gas.

"No," they both said.

The doctor found that very suspicious. "And how many times have you lost your balance?"

Artie and Jim looked at each other.

The doctor shook his head, with a smile. "I received a telegram from a 'Colonel Richmond'."

Both Jim and Artie reacted openly at that, the doctor noticed.

"He told me all about you two," the doctor continued. "He recommended that when you came back for your appointment—rather, he said 'if' you come back—that I re-admit you, Mr. Gordon, as you're both quite foolhardy when it comes to your own health."

Artie's expression turned into one of horror. "I'm fine, doctor, I don't need to come back to the hospital!"

"I think that it would be wise for a couple of days," the doctor countered. "Considering that some of your ribs _are_ indeed cracked."

Artie shot Jim a helpless look, as if begging for help.

"But I won't," said the doctor. "You both may be foolhardy when it comes to your own health, but the fact that Mr. West made you come back for this appointment shows that you aren't foolhardy when it comes to the health of each _other_. If I am confident that Mr. West will continue to be your 'bodyguard', as you called him, then I think that I'll reconsider making you stay."

Artie's eyebrows shot up. "Oh yes, sir, Jim can be quite the mother hen, right, Jim?"

Jim made a face. "I wouldn't quite say 'mother hen', but Artie is like a brother to me, Doctor, and I will do everything in my power to help him recover."

The doctor thought for a minute, before nodding. "All right. But I want you on complete bed rest, Mr. Gordon, and you need to come back in three days."

Artie groaned.

"Or I could reconsider my decision…"

"See you on Monday," Artie quickly replied.

The doctor looked at Jim. "Can I trust you to bring him back sooner should something happen?"

Jim nodded his head. "Of course."

"Good." The doctor wrote some notes in Artie's file, and left the room.

Jim clapped Artie on the shoulder, trying to lighten his friend's mood. "See? That wasn't so bad."

The look that Artie gave Jim could've melted glass.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

As they rode away from the hospital, Jim noticed that Artie was quieter than usual. "You're not really mad at me for making you go back to the doctor, are you?" he asked.

Artie looked at him, surprised at the question. "Of course not, Jim. This isn't your fault. Are we going back to the hotel?"

"Yeah…the doctor said 'complete bed rest', remember?"

"I think we should head back to the senator's first. There's something bugging me about this case."

Jim looked at him, having learned a long time ago to trust Artie's hunches. "What, exactly?"

"I'm not sure," Artie said. "The bomber is gone, yes, but I think there's more to this. It can't be so cut and dry."

Jim nodded. "I agree. But are you up to it?"

Artie sighed, carefully, not wanting to cough again. The pain in his ribs had yet to die down, and he decided to tell the truth, for once. "Not really, but what choice do we have? People could still be in danger."

Jim nodded. "I'm stopping at the telegraph office first, to see if there's a new message from Richmond."

They arrived a few minutes later, and Jim made Artie stay put as he went inside and did indeed find a telegram waiting. He read it and sent off a reply, before heading back to the wagon. After climbing aboard, he handed the telegram to Artie.

_I've been in contact with the doctor treating Artemus, which you'll find out if you succeed in dragging him back there for his appointment. Make him obey the doctor, or I'll have YOUR hide! Good work finding the bomber. Case closed?_

"Great balls of fire, Jim," Artie exclaimed. "He thinks of us as irresponsible youngsters!"

"Artie, that's because he's seen us _act_ like irresponsible youngsters. Are you obeying the doctor right now?"

"No."

"Am I _making_ you obey the doctor right now?"

"No."

Jim shrugged. "I rest my case."

Artie smiled as he stuck the telegram into his pocket. "Well, at least we're in it together."

Jim chuckled.

Ten minutes later, they arrived at Senator Blake's house. Jim helped Artie down from the wagon, steadying him when he unexpectedly tilted the wrong way. "You all right?"

Artie blinked a few times, but nodded.

Blake's butler let them in and escorted them to the library, were there was a lot of noise as the mess was being cleaned up. Blake was in the middle of the room, directing the groups of people. When he saw Jim and Artie, he headed over to them.

"Good day, gentlemen," Blake said, shaking their hands. "How are you feeling, Mr. Gordon?"

Only a miracle helped Artie decipher what the senator said, as there was a lot of noise in the room competing with his still-ringing ears. "I'm doing much better, sir, thank you," Artie lied.

"Glad to hear it," Blake said. "What can I do for you?" he asked, looking at Jim.

Jim sighed. "We just wanted to take another look around, to make sure that there was nothing we missed."

"Missed?" Blake said. "But the bomber is dead, there's nothing more to fear."

"We just want to make sure," said Jim.

Blake gestured around himself. "Be my guest. If anything turns up, you'll let me know?"

Jim nodded, before taking Artie's arm as they made their way through the room.

"I'm all right, Jim," Artie said, though he definitely looked worse for wear after his painful visit to the doctor.

"I don't want you to trip," Jim replied, as there was debris all over the floor.

Artie let Jim lead him through the room, watching as various people made different piles of refuse. The beams that had fallen over him had already been removed, he was glad to see. What remained of the grandfather clock was also gone.

"I don't think there's anything more to see here, Artie," Jim said.

Artie gave no answer, staring at a fireplace mantle halfway across the room. On it sat a half-sized grandfather clock. "Jim," he said. "The mantle."

Jim saw, and they both headed towards it. Jim reached up and opened it, and they were stunned to see a pack of dynamite sitting inside…

…and it was only fifteen seconds before 1 o'clock.

"Everybody out!" Jim shouted. "There's a bomb in here!"

Every person in the room dropped what they were doing and ran as if rabid wolves were chasing them.

Jim grabbed Artie and ran for the door. The senator got out just ahead of them, and they were still in the hall when the bomb exploded, making the house shake and knocking all three of them down.

Jim somehow made sure that Artie fell on top of him instead of the floor, but it was still a hard landing for the already injured agent. "Artie," he said, sitting up and laying his friend flat. "Are you all right?"

It was a preposterous question and Artie gave no answer, gasping from the pain.

Jim looked towards the room, relieved that everyone had gotten out. "Senator?" he asked.

Blake sat a few feet away, eyes wide and face pale with shock at what had just occurred. In that moment, Jim knew that the senator was not involved after all.

Artie suddenly coughed, and Jim helped him sit up to lean against the wall. There was a settee nearby, and Jim grabbed a pillow off it and placed it against Artie's chest, to brace his ribs.

Artie squeezed it tightly, still coughing.

Jim's movements and Artie's condition seemed to bring the senator out of some of his shock. "Oh my—oh my—Mr. West! We were almost killed! Is he all right?"

Jim remained by Artie's side. "Not really."

Artie managed to suppress the coughing. He closed his eyes and groaned, his grip on the pillow loosening.

Jim let him rest for a minute before he wrapped Artie's good arm over his shoulders and pulled him up from the floor.

Artie gave another gasp, unable to straighten up all the way.

Jim slowly got him down the stairs, the senator hovering at Artie's other side in case he faltered. They made it down without incident and left the house.

"Bring him over here," said Blake, heading towards a nearby bench.

Jim obeyed, sitting his friend down gently. "Artie, talk to me," he said, hoping that the fall hadn't caused any of his cracked ribs to break all the way through.

Artie's eyes were closed tightly, his breathing very shallow. "I'm all right," he said.

Jim sighed before looking around, seeing crowds of people forming, having been drawn by the explosion. "I think that's the biggest lie you've ever told, Artie."

Not having expected Jim to say that, Artie gave a breathless chuckle.

"Mr. West," the senator suddenly said. "Who set that bomb in my house if the bomber is dead?"

Jim shook his head. "He must've been working with someone."

The senator's eyes grew huge. "So I _was_ still supposed to make that payoff in the saloon!"

Jim sighed, not knowing what to say. "I'm sorry, Senator."

Blake sighed and shook his head. "You couldn't've known. But what do we do _now_?"

Jim looked at Artie, who still had his eyes closed. "Now we go back to the hotel—you included. It's too dangerous for you to stay here, until this case is solved."

The senator didn't look very happy about that, but he didn't want to risk getting blown up either. "But how will the man contact me again if I'm not here?" he asked.

Jim sighed again; Blake was right. "You have a point. If his goal is really your money, then he'll send you another demand. If you get one, I need to be notified immediately."

Blake nodded.

Jim looked at Artie, with a sigh. "Had enough for today?"

Artie shook his head. "I'm just getting started."

Jim laughed, not expecting that answer. "Let's go back to the hotel…you need to rest."

Artie gave no answer as Jim pulled him up and helped him over to the wagon.

Senator Blake followed, looking nervous, as if regretting his decision to stay.

After Jim got Artie onto the wagon, he climbed up himself and looked down at Blake. "Don't do anything without me," Jim told him. "Even if he threatens you."

Blake nodded. "I won't. Thank you, Mr. West."

Jim nodded, before flicking the reins and driving off.

Upon entering their hotel room, Jim helped Artie take off his jacket and lie down before he started to search every corner of the room.

Artie's eyes were closed and he didn't notice at first, as he tried to will away the relentless pain and ringing in his ears. He eventually opened his eyes and watched as Jim looked behind a dresser. "Lose something?"

Jim glanced at him. "Making sure there wasn't another trap left for us."

Artie closed his eyes again. "If you find any, let me know _before_ it knocks me unconscious this time."

Jim continued to look, but found nothing. Satisfied, he headed over to his friend's bed. "Can I get you anything?" he asked, removing his gun belt and hanging it on the nearby chair.

Eyes still closed, Artie shook his head.

Seeing that his friend intended to nap, Jim stepped away from the bed and headed over to the window, looking out. He wished that Artie wasn't trying to sleep, as he wanted to discuss their case's latest developments.

"What is it, Jim?" he suddenly heard.

With a slight smile, Jim turned around. Injured or not, Artie could always tell what he was thinking. He strode back over to the bed and sat in the chair beside it. "The senator is innocent."

"I know," Artie said.

Jim sighed. "I wonder if this bomber is someone who we've already met…there's quite a few who we've dealt with over the years."

Artie nodded and opened his eyes. "Who do we start the list with?"

"Loveless has used explosive devices, but this isn't his style."

Artie shook his head, agreeing. "Plus, he would've announced his presence by now to gloat and show off."

"Right," Jim agreed. Abruptly, it hit him.

Artie saw his friend's face suddenly display shocked realization. "Jim?"

"That's it," Jim said. "The man who set the first bomb…the one I shot. I know who he was."

Artie tried to sit up. "Who?"

Jim reached forward and gripped his good arm, keeping him still. "Remember Professor Cadawallader, the earthquake maker?* That was one of his men!"

Artie nodded. "He definitely has the experience to do it, but why extort money from the senator?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't know." He thought for a minute, before looking at Artie again. "Feel up to drawing another sketch?"

Less than ten minutes later, Jim was looking at an impressive likeness of Professor Cadawallader. "Perfect. There has to be _someone_ who's spotted him…he doesn't exactly have a common face."

Suddenly, there was a frantic knock on their door.

Jim took the gun out of his holster and walked quietly to the door, before pulling it open, gun aimed.

"Mr. West!" exclaimed Senator Blake, throwing his hands up into the air.

Jim lowered his gun. "Senator?"

Blake hurried into the room, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. "I found this in my house just inside the front door."

Jim read it aloud for Artie's benefit. "You made a big mistake, don't repeat it. Bring the money to the saloon as soon as you get this message. I'll be waiting for you."

"I came here first," said Blake.

"Good." Jim picked up Artie's sketch of Cadawallader and showed it to Blake. "Have you ever seen this man before?"

Blake frowned. "Yes…I've seen him a few times around town in the past week."

Jim and Artie exchanged a triumphant look, before Jim grabbed his gun belt and strapped it on.

"Wait for _me_," said Artie, trying to sit up.

Jim reached over and held him down. "You can't come, Artie."

"What?"

Jim hesitated, not sure if Artie had said that because he didn't hear him, or if it was an exclamation of shock.

"What do you mean I can't come?"

The latter. "Artie, if there's a fight, you won't last ten seconds. Even if you get in a lucky punch, they'll go straight for your arm. It's not worth it. Stay here and rest…I don't think you want the doctor to have anything new to report to Colonel Richmond, do you?"

Artie just stared at him. He knew that Jim was right…he was an easy target, not to mention a liability to Jim. He'd rather die than let his friend get hurt or killed trying to protect him from harm. He couldn't fathom just lying there, though, while Jim was possibly in danger. "Why don't I just sit in the saloon separately with my gun ready?"

"You're forgetting that Cadawallader knows what we both look like," said Jim. "_I_ can't even go inside."

Blake looked at him, sharply.

"But Jim—"

"There's no time to argue, Artie. It's bad enough that Blake might've been seen coming into this hotel instead of going right to the saloon. Stay here, I'll be back before you know it."

Artie relaxed, with a sigh. "Be careful."

"Aren't I always?" Jim said, heading for the door.

After the door closed, Artie said aloud, "No." Closing his eyes for a minute, he gathered his strength and managed to painfully get off the bed without hurting himself _too_ much. After finding his gun, he slowly headed out to the balcony, and stepped over to the rail, watching as Senator Blake headed alone into the saloon. He didn't see where Jim had gone, and, pulling back the hammer on his gun, he rested it on the rail, ready to be Jim's backup even if his friend didn't know it.

TBC

* 'The Night of the Human Trigger', with Professor Cadawallader goofily played by The Penguin…I mean, Burgess Meredith! So now you know who's responsible...did anyone guess? lol


	11. Chapter 11

Senator Blake walked into the saloon, nervously looking around for whomever he was supposed to meet. He suddenly heard a sharp whistle, and looked to see a man sitting at the far corner of the saloon. The man beckoned to him, and Blake headed in his direction.

"That all of it?" the man asked, as Blake placed a bag of money on the table.

"Yes," Blake answered.

The man stood. "Thanks," he said. "We'll let you know when we want the next payment." With that, he picked up the bag and turned around…right into Jim West's fist.

The man flew back onto a table, sending it crashing to the floor. Pandemonium erupted in the saloon, as the drunks sitting at the table started throwing their own fists.

Jim pulled the man up off the floor. "Where is Professor Cadawallader?"

"Who?" the man said.

Jim had no chance to say anything else, as a flying body crashed into him and knocked him away from the man, who immediately ran for the door.

Jim pushed the half-conscious drunk off himself and jumped up, ducking strangers' fists and jumping over destroyed tables to catch up with the man.

Bursting out of the saloon, Jim found that he was nowhere in sight. With a heavy sigh, he turned just in time to spot someone's head vanish behind a horse trough, where it had been peeking out from.

Heading over, Jim crouched beside it. "Are you all right, Senator?"

"I'm fine."

"Did you see where he went?"

Blake blinked. "He got away?"

Jim nodded. "Do you still have your money?"

Blake nodded. "Yes, but I'm not sure if that's good or bad…when that man returns without it, will they put another bomb in my house?"

Jim sighed. "Maybe you should stay in the hotel tonight after all…we'll think up a plan."

Blake sighed, shaken. "All right."

With that, they headed across the street to the hotel.

Jim opened the door quietly in case Artie was asleep, and was surprised to find the bed empty. He spotted the open balcony door, and immediately figured out what Artie had done. "We're back, Artie," he said, crossing the room and heading onto the balcony…

…the empty balcony.

"Artie?" Jim called. He headed back into the room to see Senator Blake holding a piece of paper.

"Mr. West…" he said, staring at it.

Jim strode over and grabbed it, his heart sinking.

_If you wish to discover what has become of Mr. Gordon, then leave the hotel right now._

Jim dashed out of the room and was outside the hotel within seconds. He looked up and down the road, seeing no sign of Artie.

"Mr. West," he heard, as Senator Blake caught up with him. "Is there anything I can do?"

Jim sighed. "I don't think so."

"You can get _outta_ here," they suddenly heard.

Turning, they found two men behind them, holding guns.

"You're not the one he wanted anyway, Blake," said one of them, holding out his hand for Jim's gun.

Having no choice, Jim handed it to him, and the man gestured with it towards the senator's horse, which was tied to the rail.

Blake silently watched as Jim mounted it and rode off with the two men.

Jim was herded north to a house on the outskirts of town. All he could think about was what shape he'd find Artemus in. He'd already been injured badly enough…what had Cadawallader's men done to him when they kidnapped him? _I'll never say 'stay here' to Artie ever again, _Jim thought._ First the bomb, now this…_

Upon entering, Jim wasn't surprised to find Professor Cadawallader standing there, grinning. "Where is Artemus?"he said, getting right to the point.

"Artemus?" said Cadawallader. "Artemus? Who is Artemus? OH, you mean Mr. Gordon. You know that I'm not good with names, Mr. East! Especially a name as fancy and uncommon as _his_!"

"West."

"That's what I said!" Professor Cadawallader exclaimed. "And hello to you too, by the way. Now! What makes you think that Mr. Gordon is here?"

Jim frowned. "Your letter said that if I wish to find out—"

"What has _become _of Mr. Gordon," said the professor, wagging his finger. "Well, I'll tell you. I killed him; he's dead."

Jim felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. He held his breath for a second before letting it out, refusing to believe it. "No you didn't."

"Yes I did."

Jim shook his head. "I don't believe that."

The professor frowned. "And why not?"

Jim shrugged. "What purpose would it serve? You hate us, fine. You want revenge, fine, but I don't see you snatching an injured man out of a hotel room, killing him, leaving his body somewhere, and then calling me here just to talk."

Cadawallader chuckled. "Such a smart man you are, Mr. South…or at least, you _think_ you are." He looked at his henchmen. "Throw him into the dungeon."

Jim was grabbed and forced down the stairs into a cellar, where the men opened a door and shoved him inside. What Jim saw on the floor both relieved and concerned him.

It was Artie, sitting up against the wall with a chain holding his uninjured arm over his head. His eyes were closed and he was very pale.

Jim dashed over and knelt beside him. "Artie?" he said, grabbing his shoulder.

Artie lifted his head and opened his eyes. "Hey Jim," he mumbled.

"Are you all right?" Jim asked, looking him over for new injuries.

"Considering," Artie said. He jerked the chain and looked up at it. "Any chance you can get this thing off me?"

Jim stood and grabbed the manacle, finding it to be made of old, rusty iron. It was high up on the wall, stretching Artie's arm to the limit in order for him to sit. Jim took out his lock pick, and started working at it. "Did they hurt you?"

Artie shook his head. "I was on the balcony with my gun, watching the saloon, and didn't hear them come in. They ordered me at gunpoint to go with them, and since I couldn't fight three men in my state…"

Jim sighed. He twisted the lock pick, and _*snap*._

When Jim stilled but the manacle didn't open, Artie looked up. "I'm guessing that sound doesn't mean that I'm free."

Jim looked at his broken lock pick. "Sorry, Artie."

Artie sighed and leaned his head back against the wall.

Jim looked around the cellar; hoping to find something that his friend could sit on to give the chain some slack, but found nothing.

"Don't worry about it, Jim," Artie said. "I'll live."

Jim headed over to the door to see if he could get it open—with or without the lock pick—but there was no handle from the inside. The cellar had no windows, either…not that Artie was currently capable of climbing out one even if there was. Defeated, Jim went back over to the wall and sat beside his friend. They sat in silence for a minute, and Jim quickly became aware of Artie's irregular breathing. He turned so that he was facing him. "What's wrong?" he asked. "And don't say 'nothing'."

Artie knew that it was pointless to lie. "Painkillers are wearing off. I don't suppose they're in your pocket?"

Jim's heart sank. "No."

Artie gave him a lopsided smile. "When I write my memoirs, this case is going to go down as being one of my worst."

Suddenly, the door opened, and Cadawallader walked in. "Have you two had enough time to catch up?" he asked.

Jim got right to the point. "What do you want with us, Professor?"

"Well," said Cadawallader, eagerly. "At first, I wanted to kill you…both of you, for foiling my plans the last time. I didn't care about the senator's money; that was just a convenient smokescreen! I figured; why not make the man pay me for having to listen to his nonsense? Everything from him is blah, blah, blah!"

Artie snorted at the 'blah'.

Cadawallader continued. "But now, I think I'll toy with you for a while. Perhaps I'll have you do my bidding, Mr. North, with the threat of harming your friend if you don't."

Jim shook his head. "There's one thing about all of this that I don't understand."

"And what is that?"

Jim held up his hand and ticked off each finger. "You've called me Mr. East, Mr. North, and Mr. South; everything _but_ Mr. West. Can't you remember that my name is the one point on the compass that you have yet to call me?"

Artie laughed.

Cadawallader scowled. "After what I just told you, _that_ is what you don't understand?"

Jim shrugged. "I've been wondering it ever since we crossed paths the _last_ time."

"Didn't you hear what I just _said_?" Cadawallader continued. "I just threatened to harm your friend if you don't do my bidding!"

"And what is your bidding?"

Cadawallader opened his mouth three times before saying, "I don't know yet!" With that, he turned and stormed out.

Jim turned and looked at Artie.

"You certainly have a way with people," Artie told him.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

After Cadawallader left, Jim sighed, realizing that he should've demanded that he let Artie loose. He started pacing.

"Don't you have any of my famous gadgets with you?" Artie asked.

Jim nodded. "Um hm."

"So why aren't you using any of them to get out of here?"

"Because the door has no knob, and is made of solid metal."

"Oh."

Jim eventually sat next to him, waiting for Cadawallader to return…but he didn't.

Hours passed, and once it reached ten o'clock, Jim realized that the professor would likely not return until morning. With a sigh, he stuck his watch back into his pocket and looked at Artie, just in time to see his head bob as he dozed. The painkillers had long since worn off, and Jim hoped that his friend would be able to get some rest despite it.

Artie suddenly lifted his head and tiredly blinked at Jim.

"Get some sleep," Jim told him. "I'll keep watch."

Artie closed his eyes, but then squirmed to try to get comfortable. He gasped when it increased the pain in his ribs, and changed his mind. "What time is it?" he mumbled.

"Ten."

Artie groaned. "This is gonna be the longest night of my life."

"It'll be shorter if you get some sleep," said Jim.

Artie almost sighed, but stopped in time to avoid hurting himself. "That would be a miracle, Jim," he said, too tired and in too much pain to lie.

Jim stood and started pacing again. He considered pounding on the door and yelling for Cadawallader, in the hope that the professor would come in and Jim could jump him, but the door was thick metal, and being in the basement, he seriously doubted that he would hear them. Looking towards his friend, and seeing how hard he was trying to mask his pain, he strode over and grabbed the manacle again, studying it before looking around the cellar to see if there was anything that he could try to unlock it with, but the cellar was pretty bare.

Jim unexpectedly came upon a few bottles of wine sitting in a box. Grabbing them, he brought them over to his friend and dusted one off before opening it. "Here you go, Artie. 1847…that was a good year."

Artie looked up and smiled. "At this point, _anything_ would be a good year."

Jim smiled back and tipped the bottle towards his friend, having to hold it for him since both of his arms were currently useless.

Artie foolishly—and likely _purposely_—gulped the wine, making a face when it burned its way down his throat and into his empty stomach. He took as deep a breath as his ribs let him, and let it out noisily. "A _very_ good year," he said, licking his lips.

Jim took a swig before putting the bottle down and watching Artie, who was blinking drowsily. "Did it work?" he asked.

Artie nodded, before suddenly tilting to the left. The manacle holding his right wrist stopped him from moving very far. "Whoops," he mumbled.

Jim reached forward and straightened his friend, having not thought of the effect that the wine would have on Artie's faulty balance. Glancing at the wine bottle, he saw that Artie had drank a third of it. Jim's goal had been for the alcohol to dull Artie's pain and help him sleep, and as he watched his friend's head droop tiredly, he was confident that it had done the job.

In less than ten minutes, Artie was asleep.

Jim eventually dozed off too; though he kept waking up to make sure that Artie was all right. Artemus slept fitfully, repeatedly shifting to try to get comfortable, which was impossible.

Jim woke up around six o'clock when he heard a sudden groan. He opened his eyes and looked at his friend, to see a wince on Artie's face. Jim reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. "Artie?"

Artie didn't open his eyes or give a reply, making Jim realize that he was only half-awake. The wince eventually melted away as he fell back to sleep.

Jim stood up and stretched before walking around the room, wondering when their captor would make his next appearance.

It was two boring hours later when Artie woke again, with a cough. He held his breath to try to suppress it, but the pain that it shot through his ribs made him gasp, which only made him cough again.

Jim knelt beside him and waited for it to pass, wishing that Cadawallader had at least left them some water. "You all right?" he asked.

Artie's answer was a groan.

Before Jim could say anything else, the sound of someone opening the door met their ears, and Jim turned to see Professor Cadawallader walk in.

"Well, gentlemen!" he exclaimed. "Sleep well?"

Jim stood. "Are you serious?" He pointed at Artie. "Set him free. He was seriously injured from your first bomb, and is in a lot of pain."

"If I set him free, then you'll both be able to escape," Cadawallader said. "No. Do you forget that I am the one responsible for his injuries? Why should I care if he's suffering?"

Jim got angry. "You'll get no cooperation from me if you don't unchain him."

"And I'll kill him if you don't give me your cooperation!" Cadawallader exclaimed, laughing. "You can't win."

Jim glared, his blue eyes like ice. "You're going to regret this, Professor, mark my words."

"Famous _last _words, I think," said Cadawallader.

"I need to use the water closet," Artie suddenly said.

Jim looked at him. _Brilliant, Artie, _he thought.

"Oh," Cadawallader said. "I hadn't thought of that. I guess I have no choice but to let you. Mr. East, you will take his place in the chain while we are gone…you aren't going to use this as an opportunity to escape!" With that, he took a gun out of his jacket, and pointed it at Jim as he crossed over to them and took a key out of his pocket, sticking it into the manacle and giving a twist.

The manacle popped open, and Artie pulled his arm down.

In a flash, Jim clapped his hands in front of Cadawallader's face, sending red smoke into the air.

Cadawallader gasped, taken by surprise, and dropped to the floor, never noticing Jim grab the gun out of his hand, as well as the key to the cellar.

Jim grabbed his hat and waved it in the air to dispel the knockout gas before it could affect him or Artie. Running towards the door, he looked out and saw no one. Dashing back, he stuck the gun in the waistband of his pants and crouched beside his friend. "Time to go," he said, grabbing Artie's right arm and pulling it around his neck.

Artie winced as Jim pulled him up from the floor. He stood unsteadily, his legs cramped and numb from sitting in the same position for so many hours. Jim headed for the door and Artie stumbled along.

Once outside the room, Jim let go of Artie's right wrist long enough to pull the door shut and lock it, before gripping it again tightly as he helped his friend up the stairs.

Artie fought to keep his breathing even, not wanting to cough and alert any of Cadawallader's men that they'd escaped. It wasn't easy…the bandage around his ribs was making it harder to breathe. When they were halfway up, he nearly lost the battle. "Stop," he gasped.

Jim obeyed, watching his friend as Artie closed his eyes and hung his head, breathing heavily. He could tell that Artie was trying not to cough, and said a quick prayer that he would succeed.

After a minute, Artie raised his head and they continued on more slowly.

Once they made it to the top of the stairs, Jim peeked his head around the corner and saw no one. The front door was in sight, and his heartbeat quickened. They remained standing still for a minute, listening, and when they heard nothing, they started for the door.

By a miracle, they reached it without incident and Jim got it open, quickly ushering Artie through and heading towards the stable. There was no one inside, and Jim sat Artie on a bale of hay as he quickly grabbed a saddle and located Senator Blake's mare. Within minutes, he was helping Artie get onto the horse, and knowing that his friend was in no condition to ride on his own, he swung up behind him, grabbed the reins, and quietly rode the horse out of the barn and out of sight.

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, both agents shocked that they had managed to get away so easily.

"It was bound to happen someday," Artie suddenly said.

"What was?" Jim asked.

"A case where you didn't have to fight a dozen men at once."

Jim laughed.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Hey everyone! Here's the last chapter to 'The Night of the Political Patsy'…a chapter that most of you almost got no chance to read. I was on my way to work Wednesday morning, and as I turned onto a side road, suddenly, for no reason, my Blazer shot forward like a rocket, as if I'd put the pedal to the floor. I was like, "Whoa!" and hit the brake, but it had absolutely no effect, and the truck continued to pick up speed. I stuck my shoe under the gas pedal, couldn't feel anything interfering, and reached down with my hand to check, actually grabbing the gas pedal and finding nothing wrong with it.

The engine sounded like a racecar, and I had both feet on the brake pedal, which wouldn't go down more than half way because of the insane speed at which the truck was going. It finally hit me that I could not stop the truck, and I started screaming, "Jesus! Jesus! Help me, Jesus!" and I took off my seatbelt and grabbed the door handle, to jump out, but then I thought to myself that I couldn't let the Blazer that I loved so much get smashed to bits. So I put my seatbelt back on and called 911. The man who answered was so calm, and I started screaming like a nut that my truck gas pedal was stuck and I was going 100 down a side road. All I could think about was the fact that there was a stop sign up ahead and a curve that would make me roll over. Without missing a beat, the 911 operator calmly said, "Put it in neutral," so I did. The truck immediately started to slow down, even though the engine was still revving just as fast. It finally rolled to a stop and I threw it in park, shut off the ignition, and fell out the door, irrationally afraid that the truck would blow up or something.

The tow eventually came, took my Blazer to a mechanic, and it turned out that the cruise control cable had come loose and got wedged under the throttle, keeping it wide open. He disconnected the cruise control and removed the cable, so this can never happen again.

The reason for telling you this isn't just to share this unbelievable story, it was to point out that I screamed for Jesus to help me, and He did. The rollercoaster ride happened on a very long, deserted road. Even though part of me thought that I was going to die, the other part of me knew that I wouldn't, that God wouldn't allow that...and He didn't. Pretty awesome, huh?

My mother called the main office of 911 to thank the operator for saving my life, and they thought it was awesome and are going to have a news conference, with me and the operator! When it gets on TV, I'll let you all know, so you can watch the newscast online and see the girl who loves writing about Artie so much. LOL!

Now, if you can get over your shock, on to the final chapter! ;-)

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It was a very long ride back to town…Jim kept the horse at a slow pace for Artie's sake. Once they arrived at the hotel, Jim gave Artie his painkillers and put him to bed, before heading to the sheriff's office and telling him where he could find Professor Cadawallader and his men. After he gave the sheriff the key to Cadawallader's cellar, he headed to the telegraph office and sent two telegrams: one to the senator and one to Colonel Richmond, before heading back to the hotel.

Artie slept for most of the day, waking just in time for dinner, which Jim had the hotel bring up to their room.

"The sheriff arrested Cadawallader and his men," Jim told him, as they ate.

"Good. I was afraid that one of them would find him in the cellar and let him out before he could get there," said Artie.

Jim shook his head. "They were taken completely by surprise, and hadn't even known that he was down there and that we were gone."

Artie chuckled, his fork in the air. "Did you see his expression when you set off the knockout gas in his face?"

Jim laughed. Suddenly there was a knock on their door, and Jim went over to answer it.

Senator Blake walked in. "Mr. West, I just received your telegram!" He looked at Artie. "Thank God you're all right! That was frightening, to find out that you had been taken by that Cada-Cad-Cadwa—that professor."

"Cadawallader," said Artie.

"You don't have to worry about him anymore," said Jim. "He was never really after you, anyway."

Blake frowned. "He wasn't?"

Jim shook his head. "No, he was after us for foiling his plans a couple of years ago. What he did to you with the bombs, the money…it was all a ruse to disguise his true purpose."

Blake shook his head. "That's insane."

Artie nodded.

"I'm grateful that you even managed to save my horse," said Blake.

Jim nodded. "I owe you an apology, Senator, for considering you a suspect."

Blake waved his arm. "Forget it. I'm sure that you had a good reason…I obviously said something that you considered suspicious. I have a habit of going on and on, blah blah blah."

Artie nearly choked on his water.

Jim and Blake looked at him, in alarm.

"I'm all right," Artie told them, coughing a couple of times. When Blake had said 'blah blah blah', Artie had been startled, thinking that he'd been overheard calling the senator 'Mr. Blah', and that Blake had found out. He looked at Jim, and could see by the mirthful look in his eye that he knew what had happened.

Blake held out his hand towards Jim. "Thank you again, for saving my life."

Jim reached out and shook it. "You're welcome."

Blake held out his hand to Artie next. "And you too…I hope you have a speedy recovery."

Artie shook his hand. "Thank you, sir."

With that, Blake smiled at them, and left.

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Jim and Artie stayed in the hotel for the next two days, knowing that if Artie didn't make his next doctor appointment, there'd be hell to pay with Colonel Richmond. The doctor didn't find any new problems, and they finally left town.

It was two very relieved agents who stepped aboard the train.

"Home sweet home," Artie said. "I think I'll stay in bed for the next week."

"From what your doctor told me, Artemus, I think that would be very wise."

Jim and Artie, startled to hear the unexpected voice, spun around to see that Colonel Richmond had been hiding beside the door when they'd entered.

Artie had reacted automatically, without time to stop himself from the violent motion, and instantly lost his balance, crashing into the desk rather than catching himself on it.

Jim, on Artie's left, reached out, but naturally couldn't grab onto his friend's broken arm.

"Good grief, man!" Col. Richmond exclaimed, rushing forward and stopping him from possibly sliding off. "You worked a case like this?"

Artie blinked his eyes, wincing as he leaned on the desk. "I hardly did anything, sir."

"That's not what _I_ heard," Richmond answered, as he and Jim carefully helped him over to the couch and sat him down. With that, Richmond took a folded newspaper out of his jacket and started to read it aloud.

"Artemus Gordon, Agent in the United States Secret Service, heroically risked his life to save an infant after a bomb went off inside the hotel, despite having been seriously injured in the bombing of Senator Blake's house." He held the paper out to Artie, who took it.

Jim leaned over to see.

Artie stared at the picture of himself holding the tiny baby. He couldn't help but smile…it wasn't a bad picture.

"I wonder if they'll change his name," said Jim.

Artie looked up at him, puzzled.

"The baby…name him after you, I mean."

Artie shook his head. "I doubt that, Jim." He read the article again. "Sorry."

Jim frowned. "For what?"

"You saved a lot more people…including me."

"But your story was much more dramatic," Jim said, leaning over the couch and reading it over Artie's shoulder. "Heroically risked his life, despite having been seriously injured…!"

Richmond cleared his throat.

Both agents looked up at him, having nearly forgotten that he was there.

Richmond's arms were folded, and he shook his head. "You two are my best agents. You work very hard…often too hard. You take very good care of this country, but you also need to take care of _yourselves_. As of now, you're both off duty until you're well, Artemus."

Jim and Artie loved their work, but were both desperately in need of a vacation. "Yes sir," they replied.

Richmond nodded and headed for the door. As he stepped out, he turned to look at them. "Artemus…do you have a frame for that article?"

Artie thought for a minute. "Yes sir, I do."

Richmond nodded. "Good." With that, he left.

Jim clapped Artie on the shoulder and headed over to get them a drink.

Looking at the picture again, Artie smiled.

THE END

Thanks for the reviews, everyone! Stay tuned for my tag to 'The Night of the Burning Diamond'! Your homework: watch that episode (at _least_ once) by next Saturday. LOL


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Wild Wild West, Drama, Hurt-Comfort